A Matter of Opinion
by ArtVandelayIndustries
Summary: What happens when an emotionally unstable CIA case officer and a stoic hitman partner up.
1. Talk

_(A bunch of vaguely related oneshots that I figured I'll just stick in here so as not to clog up the main page.)_

When they're summoned to a formal dinner, Quinn tries to come up with a way to both make it on time and keep himself and Carrie from arguing. It doesn't really work out.

* * *

"I don't need a partner."

He sighs and grips the steering wheel tighter. "We've been over this."

"I'm just saying that it's presumptuous for him to think I need someone to look after me."

"Saul just wants someone to have your back."

"No, he thinks I won't be able to handle myself."

Quinn decides to just get it out in the open. "Have you ever considered that maybe he's right?"

And there it is, her 'you just fucked up' expression. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look, you're a skilled case officer, but you can't deny the fact that you've also done some things that don't exactly put you in the best light."

Carrie frowns. "Like?"

"Off the top of my head? Disregarding direct orders."

"I don't just disregard orders."

"I recall a time when you heard my 'get the fuck back here' order as 'let's poke the Brody beehive and see what happens'."

She stifles a laugh. "You think you were giving orders then?"

"I was put in charge of the operation."

"And that, _supposedly_, made you my superior."

"That's the very definition of it, yeah."

"You were there for five minutes and you thought you owned the place. That's cute."

"I told you, I'm very likable."

He's looking at the road ahead but he can tell she's staring at him with a weird look on her face. "You know, I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or just trying to push my buttons."

"I like to think I'm skilled in both."

Carrie sighs and turns her head to look out the window.

"And while we're on the subject" he decides to goes on "I don't need a partner either. But I'm here and keeping my mouth shut about it. So maybe you should do the same."

"Fine."

"Good."

Quinn wishes he could just put everything out of his mind, but he can't delude himself into thinking this is all over. She'll find a way to bring up the subject again in T-minus fifteen seconds.

"You're driving below the limit" she says, breaking the sweet silence.

"That's usually what normal people do."

"We're on a deserted road and it's almost dark. There's not a single cop around."

"That's not a cue to throw the rules out the window, Carrie."

"I'm not saying that, just speed up a little bit."

"We're doing fine."

She manages to keep calm. For a few more seconds. "This is ridiculous. Just pull over and let's switch."

"No."

"Why not?"

He looks at her from the corner of his eye. "I've seen you drive when you're stressed."

"Well I'm not stressed right now."

Quinn casually reaches over with his right hand and flicks her nose.

"What in mother of _fuck _was-?" She stops.

"Carrie, you're not just a little on edge, you're ready to bungee jump right off it."

"And did you think that maybe it's your driving that's causing it."

He frowns. "Okay, what's this all about?"

"I told you, I just want to drive."

"Why?"

"Because your style annoys me."

"I mean why, _really_."

"You're going to make us late and that's the only push people need to start crucifying us."

"Out of the two of us, who is never late and who is _always _late?"

For once, Carrie says nothing.

"There you go. Now just try and relax until we get there."

She makes a frustrating sound as she rests her head on the back of the seat. It's bizarre how hard it is for someone like her to just stop being stressed and guarded and always on alert. It's just not in her blood to be relaxed around people. So Quinn expects her to start fidgeting any second now. Which she does.

Carrie progresses from idly running her fingers on her seat belt to sighing repeatedly and messing up her hair. But while he can tolerate all of these, Quinn draws the line when she starts aggressively digging in the glove compartment.

"You mind?" he says, sounding maybe a bit too annoyed.

"Sorry. I didn't realize I was distracting you from your driving, grandpa."

"You're not dragging me into some senseless argument."

"No, what's senseless is your driving."

He presses his lips together and shakes his head. "Fucking hell... What is this? What are we doing?"

Carrie looks at him like he's lost it. "What are you talking about?"

"We're supposed to be professionals and we're arguing like children."

"So? No one's here to see this anyway."

"We're on our way to a prestigious dinner and we're doing it while arguing. Does that sound like something that's supposed to happen within the CIA?"

"People argue all the time" she says, "it's natural."

"No, people argue _occasionally_. We do it every single time one of us opens their mouth."

"So we butt heads. I still don't see what the big deal is."

"A lot of people are going to be at this event. And if they even sense that something is wrong within our department then we're getting our asses fried by Saul tomorrow."

"Then we'll just keep our mouths shut."

"That never works."

"Then what do you suggest?"

He's not sure but an idea pops in his head the second he catches sight of a discarded beer can. "The only way we can correct this fucked up behavior is if we make it hurt." Quinn reaches over and places the empty beer can on the dashboard. "If either of us criticizes or instigates the other, then we put a five in there."

Carrie lets out a chuckle. "Sure."

"I'm serious."

"So if we piss each other off, we put in five dollars. Just like that."

He nods once. "Just like that."

"And what happens with the money?"

"I don't know, we figure out something at the end of the week."

He can tell that there's a dozen thoughts going through her head, most of which probably involve various violent acts being applied to his person.

"Fine, I'll play along" she says, surprising him. "But I still think this is fucking ridiculous."

"And that's a five right there."

Carrie freezes for a moment. "What?"

"The agreement was no criticizing."

"Yeah, when we get to the event."

"No, we started the second that can touched the dashboard."

More disbelief. "So I have to give you five dollars because I said you're being ridiculous?"

"Exactly."

"That's bullshit."

"And I'm not going to tax you on it right now, but general rule of thumb? No cursing either."

"Why?"

"It's a _formal _event, Carrie."

She sighs deeply. "This is just-" she catches him raising an eyebrow at her, "—never mind."

Carrie begrudgingly puts a bill into the beer can before settling back into her seat.

No criticizing and no swearing. Quinn wonders what else is left. The answer is, evidently, silence. The drive quickly turns uncomfortable as the car is filled with nothing but the sounds of the engine and the occasionally gravel covered road. Neither of them are used to keeping quiet or saying nice things to each other. And even if it sounds weird, it's always worked for them. For their odd, reluctant friendship.

Quinn wonders if it's possible to move up a notch and take the 'reluctant' out of the equation. They are after all co-workers and it would be in their best interest if they could forge a bond. He decides to make an attempt to sound nice.

"So I saw you training at the shooting range a few days ago. You're a pretty good shot."

The look she gives him is hard for him to decipher. "Did Saul make you keep an eye on me?"

"No. I mean yeah, but not unless we're on an assignment."

"So you're just following me around for fun."

"I wasn't-"

"I saw you there. You're not the great spy you think you are."

"Carrie, I was just trying to complement you on your shooting skills."

She's instantly suspicious. "Why?"

"Because it's a nice thing to say."

"You're not nice. I don't mean that you're rude, just that your default attitude is robotic. And yeah, I know I have to throw a five in the pot for saying that."

He shakes his head. "Save your money. What do you mean I'm robotic?"

Carrie stuffs the bill in the can anyway. "Like you haven't noticed."

"I'm just good at keeping my feelings in check."

"You're emotionless."

He knows that his mask of professionalism is always present but, for whatever reason, it bothers him that she sees him as someone with no emotions. But he lets it go. Because he's scared that, if he argues, she'll be able to prove him wrong.

The silence settles over them again, heavy and awkward, and Quinn hates the fact that he even tried to alter the status of their friendship. Maybe their friendship doesn't need to move up another notch. Or maybe the notch he's looking for isn't on the normal path people usually take. Whatever the case, he promises himself to never try forcing things again.

Minutes continue to tick by agonizingly slow. The road is still ahead, long and tedious. Carrie suddenly leans forward and places a hundred dollar bill in the beer can.

"What are you doing?" Quinn asks.

"You annoy the shit out of me" she says. "I disliked you the second Estes brought you on the team and put you in charge, like it was done specifically to piss me off."

He frowns. "I'm not sure where this is headed."

"I'm not done yet. You're sarcastic, and secretive, and I hate that I can't guess what you're thinking even when you're talking to my face. And I barely have any clue about who you are or what you did before you ended up here." She pauses. "But you're not emotionless. Because when you stabbed Brody in the hand during that interrogation it was just insane, and you can't do that if you don't have emotions."

He doesn't have the heart to tell her that the stabbing was all theatrics. "I'm not sure what to say."

"Say that this is the end to the fucking beer can thing because it's obviously not doing any good."

"I think it did some good" he says, trying not to smile. "You basically apologized to me."

"And if you mention it to anyone you'll be in a world of hurt."

"I know I complimented you on your shooting, but you're not _that_ good, Carrie."

She gestures at the beer can. "You instigated."

Quinn freezes for a moment, unsure of what just happened. But her expectant gaze never leaves his face. He sighs and takes out his wallet with his free hand.

"So does it hurt yet?" she asks, hiding a smile. Carrie knows he never expected to slip.

"It's just five bucks, Carrie."

"So far."

"So your plan is to drag me down with you."

She looks away. "I'm not saying that."

"You are _this_ close to driving me batshit crazy" he says, showing a fraction of distance between his index finger and thumb.

"And that's another five."

"If I let you drive, will you stop baiting me?"

Despite making no promises one way or the other, Carrie gets her wish and ends up behind the wheel. Which he instantly regrets once she decides to take her own route because it's supposedly more efficient.

They hit traffic. And once their car slows to a crawl, her driving turns erratic and unpredictable and for the first few minutes Quinn tries to keep his mouth shut.

While Carrie decides to use the horn as a way to convey her displeasure. "Since when did people stop understanding the meaning of 'get the fuck out of my way'?" She pauses. "Dammit."

Quinn looks at her increasingly empty wallet. "I'm impressed you managed to breeze through your hundred dollars' worth of cursing in just fifteen minutes."

"Here" she says, putting in another hundred. "It should cover me until we get there."

"This isn't exactly how I imagined things to go down when I suggested this."

"Yeah, well you're not the one getting cleaned. There better be a buffet at this thing because I'm almost broke."

All he wanted was a nice, quiet evening but it's quickly turned into messy arguments and a traffic nightmare. With a side order of guilt he didn't see coming. Quinn removes the money from the can, smoothes out the bills and ties them together with a rubber band.

"Here" he says, holding up the bundle for her.

She frowns. "What are you doing?"

"Just take it."

"What is this, charity?"

"It's mostly your money."

"Which I lost fair and square. So if you don't take the damn money out of my face I'll shove it right up your ass."

He sighs and tosses the money on the dashboard.

"Oh for fuck's sake" Carrie says, glaring at the lack of movement in the traffic. "Get moving, assholes!" She slams her hand on the horn.

Quinn lets her get half a minute's worth of horn blaring before casually removing her hand from the steering wheel. "Okay, that's enough driving for now."

"This is a fucking nightmare."

"I know, just take it easy."

She frowns at him. "We're stuck in the middle of traffic that's not moving and we're going to be late. How the _fuck_ are you so calm about this?"

"I have experience dealing with _you_ every day."

Carrie shakes her head. "I'm serious. I think I've only seen you actually pissed once before. What is it with you and bottling up everything?"

"I just don't take my anger out by driving like a fucking lunatic."

"Well maybe you should."

"Our job is about maintaining appearances. Being calm and careful."

"We're not on a job right _now_" she says, and the look she gives him conveys wonder if he's aware of this aspect.

Quinn decides not to retort. Because she's right. He's so used to bottling in everything he feels that the line between job and off-duty has blurred beyond recognition. And he's gradually growing conflicted with the person he has become.

"Quinn" she says, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes. "You still here?"

He blinks a few times to scare away the thoughts. "Yeah, I'm here." A pause. "We're not gonna make it to the dinner on time, are we?"

"No."

He lies back in his seat. "I don't think I've ever been late or missing from a CIA event until I met you."

Carrie stares at him like he's crazy. "You're serious?"

"Yeah."

"Not even those boring Christmas parties that Estes made mandatory for a few years?"

"Those had a fantastic open bar. You don't know what you were missing."

"Next thing you're going to tell me is that you never cut class when you were a kid."

He presses his lips together, determined not to say anything that would cause her to ask more questions.

"Oh my fucking god" she says, eyeing him, "you were the stereotypical goody-goody two shoes."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"I mean I was pissed two seconds ago because of the traffic, but now this means there's no way for you to leave in the middle of this conversation."

"That doesn't mean I have to participate in it, either."

"So was the book club just as exciting as I heard?"

And now starts the sarcasm, Quinn thinks.

"Or was it chess club? Can't get more cliché than that."

"And let me guess" Quinn says, "you were the bully."

Carrie's amusement dies down a little bit. "So maybe I was a bit of a bully in high school. But I had legitimate reasons for it."

"Like?"

"Self defense. The other kids were merciless."

"Why?"

Carrie opens her mouth a few times, not really sure what to say. "It's... personal."

"All right" he says and looks out the window.

"Really?" she says in disbelief. "You're letting this go. Just like that."

He smiles tightly. "I could teach you lot of things about letting things go. Lesson one being to shut up. But I doubt that's possible with you."

"If we're still keeping score, then you owe more than five dollars in the pot. Because that was a whopper of a criticizing line." She pauses when he notices his expression. "So I was wrong. Thinking you were some straight A kid in school."

He nods once.

"What happened?"

"Maybe this is the perfect time to teach you lesson two of letting things go."

She looks at him. "We all went to high school. Nothing's as bad as we make it out in our heads."

"I really don't think I want to have this conversation right now. Not sober anyway."

"Is this a quid pro quo thing?"

He frowns at her. "Why do you care so much about this?"

"Because if I have to have someone watch my back, then I need to trust that person. And right now I'm placing my trust in someone I only know on the job."

Quinn angles his head away from her. "I was the complete opposite of a good student. Let's just leave it at that."

He goes back to staring out the window but he can tell she's looking at him, her eyes burning the back of his head. She wants to probe him with questions. But the car is only filled by silence, and it looks like, for once, she's trying out doing it his way and letting things be. He suspects there's an inner battle going on.

"It's just bizarre" Carrie says eventually, "because you seem so put together right now."

He arches an eyebrow. "Was that a compliment?"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Quinn suddenly feels the need to mark his calendar because he somehow caused her to say something nice about him.

Carrie's phone suddenly goes off. She only glances at it once before turning the phone off and stuffing it back in her pocket.

"That was Saul, I take it" Quinn says.

"We're hours late. He's going to kill us tomorrow."

"No, he's going to kill _me_. You, he probably expected to be late."

"And he's not going to believe we just got stuck in traffic."

"Not a chance."

She thinks for a moment. "Fuck this, let's just bail on the whole thing."

"That's not going to happen."

"We're already late, there's no point in showing up like this."

"Carrie, I've always done things by the book and I'm not about to start changing now."

The corners of her mouth curl upwards. "You're scared?"

"You're _daring_ me skip this thing? Real mature."

"These things are just a formality. All we would do is rub shoulders with the great hypocrites of the agency."

"You're a really horrible influence, Carrie, you know that?"

There's still a hint of a smile as she looks at him expectantly.

He sighs. "There's an exit a couple of miles from where we are now. We can take it and be out of this traffic in five minutes."

It's all she needs to hear. Soon enough, a large smile appears on her face, and once the exit comes into view, Carrie guns it right out of traffic. Quinn's not sure what she plans to do, but it quickly becomes obvious when she complains about her growling stomach.

Carrie rushes through a drive-through where she orders with an enthusiasm he's sure he's never seen before. She then pulls the car in a deserted parking lot.

"You have to admit" she says, handing him a burger, "this is way better than sitting at a table with a dozen dusty agents."

"The food's definitely not pretentious."

"And the best part is that I don't have to bother worrying about manners."

"_I'm_ still here."

"My point still stands" she says. "So are you ever going to tell me what happened to you as a kid?"

He checks his watch. "I'm a little impressed you kept yourself from mentioning it for a total of two hours."

"So are you going to spill or not?"

"Are you going to tell me what happened to _you_ as a kid?"

She shakes her head. "Not as long as I'm still breathing."

"Then I have the same answer."

"So we're being equally stubborn about this and gaining nothing."

"Looks like it."

She considers this for a moment. "I think I can live with that."

Quinn nods along. They're so used to arguing back and forth that reaching an agreement feels somewhat strange. But what's interesting is that they find a common ground when it comes to being evenly bull headed. And, for now, maybe that's enough.

"So what do we do about the rest of the money?" she asks, gesturing at the bundle on the dashboard.

"I don't know yet."

"I could go for a movie marathon right about now."

He looks at her. "Carrie, it's two in the morning."

But she remains adamant about her idea all the while they're eating, and he can't help but think that she's just having fun trying to piss him off.


	2. Two Minutes

Virgil wants to help improve his brother's dating life by sending him to a speed dating event. Carrie just wishes she wasn't being roped into the whole thing.

* * *

He brings it up right out of the blue during a boring surveillance, as if it's idle chit chat over coffee. And the very idea of it makes Carrie want to laugh.

"He's going to kill you, you know" she tells Virgil.

"He won't know it's my idea."

"How do you figure that?"

"If Max knows I'm behind this, then he won't like me meddling in his life like this. He'll want out. So you need to help me and make it look like it was your idea."

"Why would _I_ want to go speed dating?"

Virgil eyes her. "Have you had any long lasting relationships in the last four years?"

"That doesn't mean I'd want to go to one of those events."

"You don't have to take this seriously, just along with it. Pretend for his sake."

Her mind instantly goes into overdrive, searching for the perfect thing to say that would get out of it. Unfortunately, nothing pops in her head.

"Carrie, I've saved your ass plenty of times in the past."

"I know" she says, "and I appreciate it, you know I do. But I just really don't like this idea. It's going to be weird."

"Then it's a good thing you're not going alone."

Carrie sighs. "Who else are you dragging into this?"

Virgil casually gestures at Quinn, who seems to be engrossed in whatever is happening on the screen in front of him.

"Quinn?" Carrie asks, confused.

"What about me?"

"You're going speed dating with Max and Carrie" Virgil says.

Quinn simply turns back to the monitor. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"You might want to change your mind about that."

"Why?"

"I've run background checks on almost everyone on this team, so I know everyone's little secrets. And you're no exception."

"Wait, you've got dirt on him?" Carrie asks, amused.

"I've got dirt on everybody, and no, this isn't an invitation to ask about it."

"No, you just reserve it for blackmailing purposes" Quinn says.

"Last resort situations" he clarifies. "So are you going or not?"

Carrie really hopes he'll say no, because she's far too curious. "If I bring a few girlfriends instead, can I have whatever stuff you dug up on him?"

Virgil shakes his head. "You don't have any girlfriends."

"I'll find some."

"No. I need another guy there, just to show Max that these things aren't a big deal."

"I'll pay you to get out of this" Quinn says, "how does that sound?"

"What makes you think I need money?"

"Virgil, come on. I actually had plans for tonight."

"Well you're just going to have to reschedule. Or you can say no and I'll go ahead and dig that file I have on you right now."

Quinn tries to stare him down. "You're bluffing, aren't you? You don't have anything on me."

Virgil glares. "I'd suggest you don't push me on this."

"No, I'm actually curious what so-called file you have on me and how-"

"You set the gym in your school on fire when you were twelve."

Quinn freezes on his spot.

"That's not true, is it?" Carrie asks, frowning.

Quinn stares. "If you show that file to _anyone_-"

Virgil raises his hands up. "I promise this stays between just us."

"And Carrie" Quinn adds, none too pleased.

"Who's going to keep her mouth shut" Virgil says.

"So let me get this straight" Carrie begins, "you're trying to force your own brother into dating and at the same time you're trying to blackmail your two friends into joining in."

"Well I'd prefer it if these two friends on mine would help me out of the goodness of their heart. But sadly that's not the case."

Carrie falls silent, unsure of exactly how he managed to spin it so that they are the bad guys.

-.-.-

She's used to getting dressed up to go out, but for whatever reason, this time she's self-conscious walking through the door. Carrie feels too exposed in her low cut blouse and skirt. But she finds some comfort in the fact none of this was her idea.

The building housing the speed dating event is filled by people with name tags on, a regular sea of desperate, shy, or confused men and women who are ambling about. Carrie tries to lose herself in the crowd and look natural. But all hope of being at ease goes out the window the moment he meets Quinn. He looks at her like she's grown a second head.

"I know we were all supposed to bring our game tonight" he says, "but you just went all out."

She absentmindedly smoothes her skirt. "It was Virgil's idea."

"This almost makes up for him being such a dick today."

"Well it's great that you find it funny because I'm really uncomfortable right now."

"I'm supposed to buy the fact that you've never dressed to draw out guys before?"

"I mean I'm _physically_ uncomfortable." She lowers her voice a notch. "I think my skirt shrank in the wash."

"Well I'm sure your eligible males will love that even more."

She rolls her eyes. "You're lucky that the only way to make men appealing is by dressing them up, not down."

"Lucky me" he says, as he hands her a blank name tag and a pen.

Carrie takes the sticker and looks at it with a dismissive look. "So we're really doing this."

"Where's Max anyway?"

"Probably running late. Or he chickened out altogether."

As they wait, Carrie fills out her name tag, sticks it on her shirt and then settles next to Quinn. She tries really hard not to seem too obvious as she searches his face. But it's hard to get anything past him.

"What's going on Carrie?"

"Nothing."

He sighs. "I'm sorry I'm not a girl in a short dress who can feel your pain right now."

"It's not that. I'm just trying to figure out why you'd want to burn down your school's gym."

"Kids do all sorts of stupid stuff."

"I know, but _arson_?"

He turns to face her. "What about you? What big secret does Virgil have on you?"

She just shakes her head and glances around the room.

"So it's something embarrassing. You looked away when I mentioned a secret."

"Or maybe I was trying to see if Max got here yet."

"It's personal enough that you wish no one would know about it" he goes on. "Not even family."

"Pry all you want, I'm not telling you anything."

"I know. It's just fun to guess."

Max comes into view, breaking away from the crowd of people and walks up to them.

"So how're you feeling about tonight?" Carrie asks him.

"Good. Great. I'm feeling great."

"Yeah?"

He looks down. "I threw up in the shower."

"Don't worry about it. You'll meet lots of women tonight. And even if a few end up rejecting you that doesn't mean there aren't at least twice that many who will like you."

Quinn pats him on the shoulder. "Basically, the women here are desperate so you'll be fine."

"Not helping" Carrie says.

But, to her surprise, Max actually starts smiling weakly. "No, that's... that's actually a bit comforting. Thanks for doing this with me, you two. I'll see you when it's over."

"Well got get 'em" Quinn says, "good luck."

When Max distances himself, Carrie leans towards Quinn. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"Oh yeah, they're going to eat him alive."

The hostess reaches them soon after and describes the rules – the people they will meet are picked at random, two minutes per person, first names only – and then ushers them to a large room filled by tables.

"You know, this might not be such a stupid idea" Quinn says. "Talk to about thirty women in the span of an hour and at the end of the night just pick and choose who you like best."

She frowns. "You're actually considering this?"

"I don't see why not."

"It's pathetic."

"It's convenient."

"So dating is like microwaveable lunches to you."

"Who said anything about dating?"

"Look, we're here to help Max. So if you start getting all confident and end up impressing a lot of women, then he'll start feeling inferior. So just tone it down. For his sake. We're here to make him feel better, and that means we need to look pathetic."

"So we're supposed to just make ourselves as unappealing as possible?"

"Yeah."

"That sounds like a real shitty evening."

Carrie thinks for a moment. "Well we can make it fun."

He raises an eyebrow, instantly intrigued."How?"

"A wager. Whoever scares off the most people wins the bundle of money we have from that car ride."

"You're sure you want to do that?"

"Absolutely. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you are going to lose."

She frowns at him. "When did you get so smug all of a sudden?"

"It's easier for men to be shot down because women are picky about their partner. It's a fact of life. But you're going to have to spew a lot of bullshit before anyone will even think about rejecting you."

"All I have to do is put on the crazy eyes routine and they'll start running."

"A lot of men love crazy" he points out. "Especially desperate men."

As Carrie glances around the room filled with men desperate for a date, she suddenly realizes the flaw in her plan.

"Like I said" Quinn tells her "get ready to lose."

Once he's gone to his designated table, Carrie drops her mask of confidence and rubs her temples. She's going to lose. And not just by a little. She takes a seat and while she waits for the first contender, starts brainstorming for ways to look as unpleasant as possible. Carrie can't dress herself up because she didn't think to bring a jacket, so that idea is out the window. The only thing she can do about her appearance is look lazy. Carrie dips her fingers in the glass of water on the table and rubs at her eyes, smearing her eyeliner. It's not much, but it'll have to do.

What she needs to do is scare people off by looking like the most unappealing woman at the event. But while Carrie's had plenty of practice dealing with men, she's never had to actively work in order to repel them.

When the first candidate sits across from her with a million dollar smile, Carrie suddenly feels very conflicted about trying to fend him off. But her pride and money are on the line. And she would rather scare off half of the city's population than let Quinn win the bet.

They shake hands and introduce each other.

"So what do you do?" the man asks her.

"I'm a slaughterhouse butcher. And you?"

He takes a second to gather himself. "... I'm a writer for a local newspaper."

"Then you should come by the slaughterhouse one of these days. You could write an interesting article on us."

"Yeah?"

"Sure, just drop by around five. That's when we start lopping off the pig heads."

"And uh, what are your hobbies?"

"Taxidermy."

"Oh, really? Isn't that something" he says, nervous, "I like to spend my weekends reading."

Carrie nods weakly, cursing herself because she has to scare off a perfectly nice man. "I like reading too."

"What's your favorite author?"

"Oh I don't mean books. I like reading cereal boxes, shampoo labels. Bus ads are really fun too."

She keeps her routine going until the two minutes are up and the man quickly leaves her table, looking like he's seen a ghost.

While she waits for the second man to reach her table, Carrie sneaks a peek over at Quinn. The woman sitting across from him has her brow furrowed and her body posture is drawn back, as if she's trying to reach the furthest point away from him. Carrie stifles a laugh, wondering what he could be telling her.

A sickly skinny man sits in front of Carrie.

"Hey" she says, looking indifferent.

"Hi, I'm Lenny."

"Yeah, I can see that" Carrie says pointing at the name tag. "So what do you do?"

"I'm unemployed. Going through a bit of a rough patch... What about you?"

"I'm a proctologist."

"What's that?"

Carrie sighs. "It's an ass doctor, Lenny."

"No kidding? Then maybe you can help me out with this thing I have."

She wonders who exactly is trying to repel who.

As the minutes tick by, Carrie realizes that it's becoming harder and harder to ward off the contenders, as if they've somehow been arranged according to how needy they are.

"I don't have a job" she tells a portly looking man, "I just sit at home and watch Project Runway."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you have beautiful eyes?"

"I'm a bum. All I do every day is sit on the couch and watch TV."

"That's fascinating."

"I haven't showered since March."

"Oh yeah, me too" he says, still mesmerized by her shirt.

At the end of the first half hour, Carrie feels the undeniable need to go pick up a handgun and do some target practice. Because the endless parade of desperate men are exhausting to deal with and the few nice ones who seem genuinely interested in her have to be frightened off.

She braces herself for the next candidate. But when Quinn is the one to sit down across from her, they both look at each other with frowns. It seems like neither of them had thought that the random order would happen to yield this result.

"This is weird" Carrie says.

He nods. "Yeah. Stalemate?"

"Stalemate."

"So how bad are you at bombing this so far?"

She tightens her jaw. "I'm doing all right. Even if it's not fair."

"What isn't?"

She gestures at her outfit.

"Sorry, but I didn't think to bring an extra pair of pants for just such an occasion."

"Fucking Virgil..." she says under her breath, remembering who talked her into this in the first place.

"I told you, Carrie, there's no chance for you to win this."

She glares at him. "So what would you say is the male equivalent of a short skirt?"

"I'm not sure, but-"

Carrie quickly reaches over and rips off the top button of his shirt.

"-it's not that."

"Yeah, you're right. Male cleavage isn't a thing now that I think about it."

"You owe me a shirt."

"No, I owe you three inches of thread" she says, placing the button in front of him.

"I'm tempted to go an eye for an eye, but I have a feeling that outfit you're wearing will fall apart if I even touch it."

She smiles sarcastically. "Funny."

"Sorry, but your chances of beating me went out the window the moment you decided to wear that."

"You're _not _winning this bet."

"Getting panicky. That's not a good sign."

"I'm not panicking."

"Your hands are shaking."

Carrie glances down at her arms. They're as still as ever.

"I can't believe you fell for that" he says, "you really are doubting yourself."

"You know what" Carrie says, eyeing him "let's amp up the stakes. Whoever loses has to ride shotgun for a month."

"But you love driving."

"I know. And that's why there's no way I'm losing this thing."

Two minutes are soon up and Quinn leaves, leaving Carrie wondering what the hell she just did. She's convinced herself into thinking it's not about the money, just the pride of winning. But now that her driving privilege is on the line, she's really starting to worry. Carrie needs a fool proof tactic to send men running, and she needs to figure it out fast.

She tries various strategies, ranging from complete indifference to frantically talking about exes and gesturing wildly. And while it seems to be effective, it's still doesn't feel enough.

But a few minutes later, while talking to a that almost starts sobbing, an idea pops in her head. Something to ensure her win.

-.-.-

Once the event draws to a close, Carrie finds him back in the lobby, staring at his watch.

"Virgil better appreciate all this" Quinn says, "because I think I just gained the reputation of the weird guy who might have stalker tendencies."

She just regards him, amused.

He looks at her. "You're very quiet. What happened?"

"Nothing. I'm just really anxious to see who won this thing."

Quinn lowers his voice. "Look, I know I've been pushing your buttons with this, but if you need the money, then-"

"Not a chance."

"You're sure?"

"You really think I handled this thing that badly?"

"I'm just saying that you look beautiful, and that's a hard aspect for some people to ignore."

She frowns slightly. "Thank you. I think."

The hostess walks up to them holding a huge bundle of papers. "Well are you two ready to find out who wrote your name down?"

"Sure" Quinn says, "but can you just skip who and tell us _how many_ people wrote our name down?"

The woman looks at them confused. "All right... Well, Peter, out of the thirty candidates, a total of..." She pauses for a few moments, counting, "... eleven wrote your name down."

"Not bad" Carrie says, "what about me?"

The woman leafs through the papers and pulls out a different sheet out. "You have... four." The woman looks at Carrie with compassion. "I'm sorry, sweetie. But we have plenty of other events right here on Thursday. You should come then."

"Thanks" Carrie says, feigning sadness, "but I'll be fine."

She waits for the hostess to move on before breaking into a smug smile.

"Four" Quinn says in disbelief. "Jesus."

"So remind me what you said about me not having a chance in hell of winning this?"

"I just can't believe— How did you pull it off?"

She pauses. "I think I'll keep it a mystery for now."

"Did you pay them to leave?"

"Does it look like I can fit a wallet in this thing?"

Quinn just shakes his head. "I don't get it, what did you do?"

It feels good to have the tables turned. "It's eating you alive, isn't it?"

"Carrie, you just destroyed my game. Is the shaming really necessary?"

"All right, fine" she says, "I remembered how one of my old boyfriends scared me off, and I used the same tactic."

"Which is?"

"The I-think-I'm-in-love-with-you card."

Quinn thinks for a few seconds. "That wouldn't have worked if I tried to pull it off."

"I know."

A small smile appears on his face. "I'm impressed."

"For a second there I thought it wouldn't work because three of them were actually into it."

"I told you you'd have to come with something truly horrifying to make them look past that outfit."

"Yeah, speaking of that" Carrie says, "any chance I can borrow your jacket? I feel fucking weird walking around like this."

He just nods and drapes his jacket over her shoulders.

"So how did Max do?" Carrie asks.

"You know, I have no idea. I didn't even see him around."

"Well let's find out" Carrie says, walking over to the hostess. "Excuse me, have you seen our friend Max? He's a guy with average height, thin-rimmed glasses, kind of awkward?"

"The man who came here after you? He left five minutes ago."

Worry suddenly hits Carrie. "Did he look depressed?"

"No, he seemed pretty content talking with the woman on his arm."

"Wait, he left with someone?"

"Oh yes, short woman with dark hair. They seemed to be getting along really well."

Carrie thanks the hostess before turning to Quinn, dazed. She's not sure what to say.

"So the socially stinted guy managed to score" he says, "and here we are walking home alone. Un-fucking-believable."

"At least Virgil can't say we didn't do a good job."

"I think we did _too_ good a job."

She motions towards the exit. "Come on, let's just get out of here and forget all this."

"Well not all of it. You still owe me a shirt."

Carrie sighs. "It's just a button, Quinn."

"I can't walk around like this. It's not professional."

"If I have to go home in a two inch skirt, then you can tough it out too."

They head out towards the parking lot, and Quinn stops in front of the car door, keys in his hand.

"What's wrong?" Carrie asks.

"I just feel don't feel right leaving like this."

"Still feeling inadequate because Max scored and we didn't?"

"Sort of, yeah."

Carrie presses her lips together. "Well I can't think of any better remedy than hitting a bar and seeing how many people we can attract."

"This isn't another bet, is it?"

"No more bets." She gestures at his hand. "Now give me the keys. I'm the only one here who won the right to drive."

Quinn sighs deeply before following her in the car.


	3. Night Time At the Docks

(Despite being used to her job, Carrie still harbors a sense of excitement for it. Quinn doesn't share her enthusiasm. Nor does he expect her to change her opinion by the end of the night.)

* * *

She doesn't expect the docks to be so quiet, even if it's the dead of night. But as they step out of the car all Carrie can hear is the falling of rain and the occasional rumble coming from the water. And if it wasn't for the rest of the team moving in, then she would have just felt like the last person still alive.

Carrie watches as various agents give short commands to each other before scattering through the docks in an orderly fashion. And while the late night wind is cold and the rain hits her every few seconds, she finds that it doesn't matter.

"You ready?" Quinn asks from beside her, grabbing a case from the car.

She nods and finds that she can't hide a small smile from appearing on her lips. Because this is what makes her feel alive.

They pass a long line of shipping containers as they make their way towards a half constructed building. The team ahead confirm that the path is all clear.

"And that's code for 'this is going to be a one hell of a long night'" Quinn says.

Carrie has a hard time hiding her amusement.

"What's with the smile?"

"You're acting all annoyed. Like you've got something better to do on a Wednesday."

"If you ask me, sleep is better than staying the rain and waiting for a couple of criminals that may or may not show at all."

"You can sleep when you're dead."

"No, I'll be dead _if_ I don't sleep."

Carrie tries to figure out what has him so annoyed. "You didn't have any coffee, did you?"

Quinn glances away, as if embarrassed that she caught on. "Didn't have the time."

"Well maybe it all works out since you're not the best shot out there when you're high on caffeine."

He tightens his hand on the case. "Carrie?

"Yeah."

"Stop talking."

The building in front of them looks deserted and Carrie can't believe that she finds it even a bit menacing in the rain. They make their way on the concrete steps, careful not to take a wrong step in the various pieces of leftover materials that seem long abandoned. Their footsteps echo with every movement.

They stop at the sixth floor when a voice in their earpiece instructs them that it's high enough.

"At least we don't have to sit directly in the rain this way" Quinn says, unpacking the sniper rifle in the case.

"It's just water, Quinn. Lighten up."

"You're loving my misery right now, aren't you?"

"Actually, what I love right now is the job. I don't know why, but this feels like a good time to be alive."

Even if it's not the highest floor, Carrie loves the view it gives of the city. It's ominous and beaten by the rain, but it gives off a certain raw quality that mesmerized her. Because from where she's standing, Carrie feels like she's at the top of the world.

Quinn joins her a few moments later, securing the sniper on a few cinderblocks.

Carrie leans over the edge. "Hell of a drop, isn't it?"

"I guess" he says, not really listening.

"You afraid of heights?"

He looks up for a moment, suspicious. "Why?"

Carrie casually takes a step towards him. And then gives him a nudge towards the edge. He tenses instantly and grabs the support beam next to them. Carrie can't help the small laugh that leaves her lips.

He glares. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"It's a relief, actually. I finally found out you're afraid of something."

"Yeah, big surprise, people are afraid of things."

"Not you. You never seem like you're scared of anything."

Quinn frowns slightly. "You make it sound like I'm a cyborg or something."

"You're calm by default, you never lose your tempter" she says, counting on her fingers, "you keep your life outside the job private. You're also the best shot I've ever seen. You can't blame me for thinking you're maybe a little bit too precise in everything you do."

"Well I'm sorry that I'm good at my job."

"Only _you_ would take all I just said as a criticism."

"Sometimes it's hard to tell what you really mean when you start talking."

She frowns. "This no-caffeine thing is really makes you grouchy as fuck."

"All right, knock it off. We have a job to do here."

Carrie lets the remarks go and leans on the support beam. She unholsters her gun and keeps her eyes peeled for any surprises while Quinn stares through the rifle scope. And as time and the rain trickle by, she's starting to realize that maybe he was right. This was going to be a long night. And a part of her would rather be with the rest of the team where most of the action will happen than perched up on the building. There's little chance of anyone managing to sneak all the way up to their floor, but Carrie can't just leave. She still needs to have Quinn's back in case things go wrong.

Minutes pass them by slowly, and Carrie finds herself keeping count in her head. When the second hour comes to a close she starts pacing the area slowly.

"They're running late as hell."

Quinn doesn't even look up. "It's almost like criminals don't care enough to be punctual."

"You think something happened?"

"Hopefully they crashed their car on the way here and we can all just go home and sleep. But then again Saul wants these guys alive."

"Yeah, it's such a bummer that we need our suspects alive."

He pauses for a few seconds. "I sometimes find it really hard to tell if you're being sarcastic or not."

"I'm not so sure myself at this hour. You think the sunrise will look good from up here?"

"A sunrise over a dock known for sleazy trades and prostitution. I'm sure it's going to be magical" he says, fidgeting in place.

"You all right?"

"My back is killing me. But the worst part is this damn earpiece. I think the rain somehow got into it because I'm getting nothing but static." Quinn glances at her from the corner of his eye. "You think you can cover me for a minute while I get another one?"

She nods. "Just a warning that I'm a little rusty. It's been ages since I've used one of these."

"I'm sure you'll remember how delightful it is. And that it comes with a side order of endless waiting around."

Carrie sends him off and then takes his place. The view through the sniper scope helps her snap out of the monotony a little bit, but only because of the illusion that things could start moving along any time soon. And as she waits, Carrie's neck and back start hurting almost instantly. She feels more than a little rusty at this.

Several minutes later she catches sight of Quinn walking near some storage containers, making his way towards the nearest team that sits huddled a few yards away. She has a little chuckle while imagining how she could scare the living daylights out of him by shooting at the space above his head.

Quinn keeps moving, walking into an area that isn't lit by any streetlamps. Carrie has a hard time seeing anything, but she focuses the instant she notices a figure moving. He creeps from container to container and it's quickly obvious he's trying to get behind Quinn.

Her first instinct is to warn him, but his earpiece doesn't work, so Carrie switches frequencies to the other teams.

"There's someone moving behind Quinn" she says, "I don't know who it is, but someone needs to warn him."

"We're not seeing anything, are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm fucking sure, someone get over there and tell him."

But the seconds tick by and no one shows up. And the shadow is still moving, getting closer.

"For fuck's sake, someone move already, he's right-"

She sees the distinctive outline of a machinegun emerging from the shadows. And before the thought even registers in her mind, Carrie pulls the trigger.

The figure stumbles out, dropping the gun and clutching his stomach. He looks to be no older than thirteen. Carrie freezes and stares as he falls over and stains the concrete red.

She can hear yells and gunshots somewhere out of sight, but she doesn't react to it. Because she feels stuck. Carrie's mind has stepped somewhere in the background and everything in front of her eyes feels like it's nothing but a movie. Her view from the sixth floor is soon replaced by cement steps and her own feet descending on them. Then a series of shipping containers. The boy's motionless body. There are various people rushing by her, but it always seems to be happening somewhere a few feet away from her because Carrie doesn't feel like she's really there.

A few minutes later, a pair of hands grabs her shoulders and directs her to the car she came in. And the city soon starts passing by her so quickly that she can't help but feel like she's stuck in a dream. A dream that never seems clear too her because there's a constant image over it. One with a bullet and a bloody body.

Carrie isn't sure how long after the incident she ends up back home, but she's faced with an agent who looks at her with a concerned expression. He tells her something about sleep and rest, but there's no point focusing on his words because they just bounce right off her.

Once alone, she wanders the house for a while, searching for her wallet. There's a clock on her wall but she purposefully ignores it, going right by it on her way out of the house.

And the next time she blinks, she finds herself sitting at a counter with two glasses in front of her. There's noise and music and people talking around and that's enough to calm her nerves, at least for a little bit. But what she would want the most is to get rid of the bloody overlay that's in front of her eyes.

She keeps focusing on the noise in the bar, hoping it will eventually replace the one in her head. And soon enough a familiar voice cuts through some of the havoc. Carrie doesn't turn around, just keeps staring at the liquid floating in her glass.

"You worried the hell out of us" Quinn says after taking the seat next to her. "You should've taken your phone with you."

"It slipped my mind."

He doesn't have anything to say to that because there really is nothing to say.

"What happened to the others?" she asks almost mechanical.

"They were trying to sneak in behind us, but we caught them all. The kid was the only casualty."

She nods a few times while staring forwards, lost in thought.

"I forget sometimes" Quinn says, "that you're not used to this."

"But I should be. I've seen it plenty of times before, and in most cases right in front of me. But it's just so different when..." She abandons the remark and just shakes her head.

"I know."

"Of course you know. You do it all the fucking time. No wonder you're like this."

He sighs and lowers his voice. "I'm sorry I left you alone up there. I really am."

"It's not your fault. Sooner or later I would've had to do something like this."

"He was with them, you know. He was going to join the others and try to flank us. You did the right thing."

"Killing a kid is the right thing" she says. "I don't think that explanation would fly anywhere else, but around here it's fucking normal."

"We have to do a lot of shitty stuff if it means we can keep the world safe."

"That just sounds like a bullshit excuse to make ourselves feel better."

"You're right. It _is_ an excuse, but if we didn't try to rationalize it, then nothing would get done. Life isn't balanced and it isn't fair. And it's never going to be."

Carrie leans further on the bar and rests her head on her arms. "If I agree with you, will you please let me have my drink in peace?"

"No."

She sighs deeply. "Why the fuck not?"

"This is a real shitty place to hang around in after this kind of night."

"And you'd know that from experience?"

"Yes."

Carrie glances around the bar and then at him. "Well what am I supposed to do? I can't go back home and sleep. I'm not like you. I can't just shrug it off."

"I wouldn't either."

"Then just let me sit here and drink until my brain shuts off."

"And tomorrow you'll wake up with the same noise in your head, only it's gotten worse because you're hungover."

"So what do you suggest? Because I'm not going back home. It's too quiet there."

"We can stay here. But just don't drink. Not the hard stuff anyway."

She doesn't resist as Quinn gently moves the glasses away from her. "Now I have to deal with a brain that just won't stop screaming at me that I fucked up. And I'm not good at this. The dealing part."

"I think the key in these situations is not to just block it out. Because even if it might work for a few days, but then that big ball of anger and resentment and guilt will just come back in the worst of times."

She shakes her head. "I'm not blocking it out."

"Carrie, you were trying to drown it in bourbon."

"Maybe that's the way I can cope with this sort of things."

"And I'm telling you it's not good."

She glares. "What exactly would you know about that?"

"I once killed someone who didn't deserve it."

Carrie finds that she can't talk for a while. Eventually she just asks, "Why?"

"It was an accident. A really fucking stupid accident."

"What happened?"

"I was gathering intel and thought I'd been spotted. So I just went with my instinct and shot. Turns out it wasn't who I thought it was, and I couldn't do anything about it. Because you can't just bring a life back. So I went on with my job and tried very fucking hard not to think about it. But it doesn't work that way. If you block something out it just comes back with full force, one way or the other. And in my case that meant no sleep for half a week."

"How did you get over it?"

Quinn thinks for a moment, not really sure what to say. "Time, I suppose. You just try to rationalize it that you're human. That you make mistakes. And that you're keeping going to make mistakes."

Carrie realizes that she's started nodding. "So when you shot that person-"

"Kid."

She turns to look at him, and when she does, Quinn glances away.

"It was just a kid" he clarifies.

"How did you feel?"

"Like the shittiest guy on the planet. Like the job wasn't worth it."

She smiles bitterly. "That's pretty much how I feel right now."

"Carrie, what I did happened because of bad luck. But you most likely saved my life tonight. So hold onto that thought."

"I don't know about saving your life. After that bullet you took last time I figure you're some sort of Terminator."

Quinn smiles ever so slightly. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not."

"It is" she tells him, and the expression of surprise on his face says it all. The fact that Carrie has dropped the sarcasm shield means the night has left her truly rattled.

"It's going to get better, you know."

She nods absentmindedly. "I just don't think I can face Saul. The second I tell him I fucked up, he's going to give me that disappointing stare. And I just can't take that."

"Carrie, you didn't fuck up."

She sighs and shakes her head a fraction. "Thanks for trying, but you don't have to make me feel better. I'd just feel too guilty if I did."

"All right. We can just sit here and not say anything."

For roughly half an hour neither of them talk, and Carrie almost starts feeling like the pressure in her head eases up. She can't deal with feeling guilty nor feeling innocent, so she resorts to sit somewhere on the line between the two.

The noise buzzing in the back of her head eventually lowers a few notches, and while it doesn't disappear, it's enough for her to feel like she can head back home. The clock on the wall shows four in the morning, which doesn't give her a lot of time before having to head back to work. So she reluctantly pushes herself off the bar stool and walks towards the exit.

"I guess I'll see you at the briefing in a few hours" she tells Quinn once they're outside.

"Maybe you should stay home today."

"It'll be fine" she says, but her voice is weak. "I'll be fine" she repeats, trying to sound more confident. "Besides, we still have plenty of things to do at work today."

He doesn't say anything, but his concerned stare says it all. And the look makes her feel both annoyed and a bit guilty.

"You don't have to be worried about this, I told you I'll be fine."

Quinn just nods.

"I'll try and get some sleep. I mean I _will_. I did the right thing." She then adds a little weaker, "Didn't I?"

Her eyes suddenly start tearing up and Carrie hates the fact that she can't stop it. What's worse, it just keeps amplifying. She tucks her hair behind her ear and takes a few deep breaths, but it's not working. Her vision is clouding and the next thing she knows, Quinn leans over and gives her a reluctant hug.

"I'm fine" she says, but he doesn't let go.

"I know."

"I really am" Carrie says, watching as tears start falling on his shirt.

She can tell that he's not used to comforting people but then again she's not used to letting people comfort her. And the whole situation feels like it's been sprung out of nowhere and it makes no sense. Because she's tougher than this. She's been through much worse, and she can't understand why this incident is the one to make her break down.

But, for the moment, Carrie just tries to get through the feeling of guilt and exhaustion and wonders if maybe Quinn is right. That waiting really is the only thing that will make her feel better.


	4. Out of Great Panic

(Quinn has always considered his partnership with Carrie as something between two co-workers, but not actual friends. The appearance of an unexpected mission starts changing his mind.)

* * *

He has to make use of all the skills he has, but Quinn successfully manages to avoid her during the entire afternoon and evening. And at the end of the day he quickly dodges her by taking a lesser known route until he reaches an abandoned kitchen area in the basement.

He looks back and scans the corridor but there's no sign of her. No sign of any people, for that matter. And Quinn can breathe easy. He knows it takes Carrie at least fifteen minutes until she leaves to go home so he checks his watch before leaning on the wall. All he has to do is out-wait her.

But the wait is shortened, and the sound of the elevator down the corridor startles him. Quinn mentally curses himself because this means he messed up somewhere.

A few seconds later, Carrie walks in, clearly not pleased.

"How did you know I was here?" he asks, defeated, and a little embarrassed. He's an expert in staying hidden from all manner of criminals, but for some reason he can't seem to dodge his own partner.

"You're a million miles tall. You're easy to spot walking out of the conference room."

Quinn can't believe such an obvious thing managed to fly right past his head.

"So are you going to tell me why you've been avoiding me lately?" Carrie asks.

"Maybe you're not the one who I'm avoiding."

She glares at him. "And now you're talking to me like I'm fucking stupid."

Quinn tries not to look at her while he thinks up the right way to phrase it. "Have you heard anything from Saul?"

"When I asked what's going on with you, he just said that he's not getting in the middle of this. So I figure I'd just ask you directly. But by the looks of it, you're doing all you can not to tell me."

There's no point dancing around the issue, especially when she looks so annoyed already.

"I have to leave for a while" he says.

Carrie frowns slightly. "You're taking some days off?"

"Not exactly."

Her face instantly darkens. "Then it's an assignment."

"Yes."

"And you were just going to leave without me."

"That was the plan, yeah."

"Why?"

"Because you're not black ops."

He regrets saying it the moment he hears the words with his own ears. Because it sounds exactly like he just told her that she's not good enough to be part of the assignment. So Quinn braces himself for a stream of curses.

"I know" Carrie says, surprising him, "you didn't have to ditch me all day just because of the obvious."

"So you understand why I have to disappear for a while."

"I get it. And it's fucked up. Saul put us together so we could have each other's back, and here you are leaving by yourself for some assignment that I know has more than one guy with a gun aimed in your direction."

"I've done this plenty of times before."

"Then just hope that your luck won't run out this time."

She turns around and heads outside, stepping down the corridor. Quinn rolls his eyes and follows her.

"So you're pissed off right now because you're not greenlit to join this assignment."

Carrie shakes her head. "No, I'm pissed off because if you get shot out there I'll need to start searching for another partner, and that's a pain in the ass."

"Well I'm sorry you find my hypothetical death so inconvenient."

"Apology not accepted."

He sighs. "Look, if this is because I avoided you all day, then I admit it was fucking childish of me and I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"I'm serious."

"And I said it's _fine_."

He rubs his forehead. "You're seriously being passive aggressive?"

"No, I'm letting it go."

"Right, because the Carrie I know just lets things slide."

She stops in front of the flight of stairs to stare at him. "Look, don't you have an assignment to get ready for instead of following me?"

"Yeah, but-"

"And I've got things to do too, so I guess I'll see you when you get back."

She doesn't even wait for his reply as she disappears up the stairs. Her aloofness annoys Quinn to no end, because if there's one thing Carrie isn't, it's indifferent. And he suddenly hates the fact that he has to leave for a few days and can't find the time to set things right.

-.-.-.-

Their suspect is a man who is attempting to sell state secrets and is scheduled to meet with a prospective buyer sometime within the next few days. And no one is allowed to touch him until the buyer surfaces. This last fact sets Quinn on edge because he has to tail the man for hours on end, and yet can't even approach him.

But he's done this before, and he's just glad that the assignment sounds straightforward so far. He has to keep his distance until they make the trade, at which point he's clear to tail the guy and take the shot in a place as secluded as possible.

But until that transpires, Quinn settles on the second floor of an abandoned library, where he starts unpacking. He didn't bring much because he always has to be prepared to leave as fast as possible. And yet he can never really get used to seeing just how empty the bag is: nothing but surveillance equipment, firearms, and two cans of some sort of food he'd rather not think about too much. It only takes him a few minutes to get set up.

And the long wait begins.

The first night passes uneventful, much to Quinn's delight. He's never been a fan of suspects who leave their house in the middle of the night just because they wanted to stop by the liquor store for a few moments before heading back home. Luckily, the guy stays put. But when he fails to move even during the day, monotony quickly settles in.

And Quinn immediately begins to dislike the assignment. He's used to being by himself for hours and days on end, but he quickly realizes that he rather misses stepping on Carrie's toes and arguing with her about it. And this revelation leaves him feeling a bit conflicted with who he is turning into. Because he's never imagined himself going soft, and here he is missing the company of someone he finds irritating at least eighty percent of the time.

He goes back to looking through the binoculars, resolved to keep his mind on-track with the assignment. His burner phone buzzes soon after.

Quinn answers while still keeping his eyes on the building. "What's going on?"

"We've got a problem."

It takes a few moments for the voice to register in his head. "Saul? No one told me you were on this mission."

"I wasn't, but there's been a change of plans. Our sources indicate the guy you're watching is only one of four people."

"Wait a second, there are _four_ different people who have state secrets in their possession?"

"Supposedly. Someone must've caught on to what we're doing, and they split the information between more people to make sure at least some of it makes it to their destination."

"How did they know they're being watched? I never even left this fucking building."

"I don't know. Let's hope it's just paranoia."

Quinn takes a deep breath. "All right, what do you want me to do?"

"Stick to the plan and keep following the guy. Just be careful. We've dispatched more of our people to keep up with the rest of the suspects. So don't get trigger happy unless you know for sure who you're aiming at."

"Got it."

He hands up, and Quinn gets back to the surveillance. And roughly half an hour later the suspect starts to move. Quinn grabs a handgun and hides it in his jacket before walking out the door.

The second he steps outside, he knows something is off, because there's a lot of noise coming from a few streets down. And, by the sound of it, it's coming from a large crowd. The suspect rounds a few corners and heads through a tight alley. Quinn follows, keeping as far as he can. And once he makes his way on the other side of the alley, he stops in his tracks. Because before him is a large crowd marching down the streets in various costumes.

The suspect is nowhere in sight, seemingly swallowed by the large mass of people.

Quinn quickly digs out his phone and dials. "Saul, what the fuck is going on? I just lost the guy in a giant crowd."

"Hang on..." he says, and Quinn can hear distant chatter on the other side of the phone. "Jesus Christ. Apparently, what you're looking at right now is Boston's St. Patrick's parade."

"Why didn't anyone warn us about this?"

"The tech guys must be new. Listen, you can't attract any attention. Under no circumstances are you allowed to shoot our guy as long as you're in the crowd's vicinity."

"I'm aware of that. What am I supposed to do now that I lost him?"

"Stand by. I'll call you when I know more."

This is turning into a mess and fast. But Quinn tries to keep calm and out of sight. Luckily, it's not hard for him to remain conspicuous in a noisy crowd. His phone buzzes a few minutes later.

"We've lost contact with one of our teams" Saul tells him.

"What about the comlink?"

"No one's answering. I think this fucking parade must be interfering with it. I need you to find out what the hell happened. They was hiding out two streets away from you in a desolate apartment building. You can't miss it, the brickwork is faded red."

"Got it, I'm on my way."

It takes a while, but he finally manages to separate himself from the sea of people and slip by into a series of alleyways. Despite the impending evening darkness, Quinn has no problem spotting the building Saul was talking about. He walks inside, careful not to make any noise.

Compared to the noisy outside, the apartment building lets off nothing but eerie creaks and sounds. But no signs of life. The desolation definitely isn't a good sign. He presses on, gun drawn, but the apartments all seem either empty or locked. Quinn makes his way towards the basement.

By the time he takes a step on the stairs, it's obvious that there's someone in the laundry room. He creeps along the wall by the open door, taking slow, quiet paces. He leans around to try and glance inside.

A bullet explodes next to the door frame. Quinn tries to back away, but only makes it a few steps before he's met with the sight of a barrel aimed in his face.

The gun is then quickly lowered. And Carrie takes a breath of relief. "Jesus, you scared the shit out of me."

"I can say the same." He looks at the door frame. "You were inches away from hitting me."

"Sorry."

He shakes his head. "No, that was actually pretty impressive."

"What's going on? Saul didn't say you'd be on this mission."

"I don't think he knew. Everything was last minute" He pauses to look at her. "Are you part of the team that went missing?"

Carrie's face deflates, as if remembering something. She just nods.

"What happened?"

She takes a step away from the door and gestures towards the laundry room. Inside there is the body of a man. He's lying in pool of blood .

Quinn carefully steps around it. "Shit. Who was he?"

"Agent Jones" Carrie says, "he was paired up with me for this assignment. We were told to hide out here until our suspect started moving, and then..." She just points at the window above them, shattered by several bullets. "I tried to chase the guy, but he was gone by the time I made it outside. And I can't even call this in because the fucking comlink is down."

Quinn isn't sure what to say. If there's even the right thing to say.

"You were right, you know. I don't belong on these kinds of assignments. Saul said I should come because we were short staffed, but I should've just said no. Because now there's casualty and it's my fucking fault."

He shakes his head. "It's not your fault, it was just bad luck."

"Is that what I'm supposed to tell his wife when I get home? Sorry I couldn't protect him because it just wasn't a _good day_ for me."

"Listen to me" he says, grabbing her shoulder, "if you start keeping count of all the bad shit that happens to you, then you're never going to get things done. We're here on a job that just escalated badly. So we can sort this out when it's done. All right?"

She nods reluctantly.

He knows that the sight makes her nervous, so Quinn guides Carrie out of the room and up the stairs as he dials.

"What do you have for me?" Saul answers.

"I found your missing team. We have an agent killed by a suspect who fled the scene. And you've given me a heads up about Carrie being here."

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine, considering. Saul, what the hell's going on? We started this with one suspect and now we have four confirmed and who knows how many else who are trying to take us out."

"We're not clear on what's happening, but we still need that intel they're carrying around. We can't drop the objective just because one of our guys is down."

"I know."

"And if I know Carrie she's not going to let it go, so you need to remind her what's at stake here. One life is nothing compared to letting state secrets in the wrong hands."

"_I know_. We'll get it done."

"The question is if _she's_ up for it."

Quinn glances at Carrie, trying to discern what could be lying behind her stony expression. He hopes it's determination. "Yeah, she's up for it."

"Good. We've got a drone who spotted three of the men running towards the abandoned library."

Quinn freezes. "That was my hiding spot."

"And you better hope the lock on that place won't be easy to pick."

But it's absurd to think that three men who were skilled enough to get their hands on state secrets wouldn't be able to break a lock to an old, deserted library.

Quinn curses inwardly as he pockets his phone.

"What's wrong?" Carrie asks.

"They're in the place I was hiding out when I arrived. Which means the bag full of weapons and surveillance equipment I brought is still there."

She shakes her head. "Jesus. So if they find it, we're fucked."

"Yeah."

"Then let's get there before they do."

She heads up the remaining stairs, anxious to get outside.

"Carrie, we can't just barge in there without a plan."

"It won't matter."

"Yes, it will" he says, stepping in front of her. "Look, I know you're determined to catch these guys because you want to make that agent's death mean something. But getting yourself killed won't solve anything."

She rubs her head in frustration. "All right, what's your plan?"

Their only chance to enter undetected is through the basement. And Quinn can't believe he's actually grateful for the noisy parade happening close to library. Because it means he can get through the basement window without drawing any attention.

They slip inside and carefully start making their way towards the ground level. There's clear movement coming from the floor above them, and Carrie takes quiet steps, darting her eyes from left to right. They step into the first level corridor and Quinn catches sight of movement coming from one of the deposit rooms. He gestures and Carrie nods once before following him.

They creep around the walls and stop before an open door. Quinn risks a glance. Two of the men are inside, rifling through a bag. The bag that is filled with surveillance equipment and handguns.

Quinn steps inside, gun trained. "Turn around slowly, or we'll shoot."

They stay rooted to the ground for a few seconds. Then their hands reach for the weapons. Quinn has no choice but to open fire, and the men fall backwards, staining the floor with blood.

"This is bad" Carrie says, "we were supposed to get these guys alive so they could lead us to the buyer."

"Let's hope the other teams have better luck."

A floor creak echoes somewhere in the background of Quinn's focus. But by the time it registers in his head to turn around, it's too late. He hears a gun being loaded. And half a second later, Carrie spins around and shoots once.

By the time Quinn turns to look, he can see an armed man falling to the ground. A single bullet wound, square in the middle of his chest. Carrie rushes over and kicks his gun away, just in case.

"You're a great shot" Quinn says in disbelief.

She shakes her head. "I'm really not."

"Are you trying to be modest now?"

"No, I'm serious. I was never good."

"Then you have great reflexes."

She flexes her fingers a few times, trying to steady her shaking hands. "Out of great panic comes great reflexes."

They start searching the three men, and Quinn manages to find a phone much like the one he's carrying.

"Does it have anything useful on it?" Carrie asks.

"No contacts list. No recent calls. There's just one message. _West Broadway__. 9PM_."

Carrie walks over and holds out her hand. "Give me your phone. I've got an idea." She dials. "Saul, we've got three suspects here in the library and-"

"Are they alive?"

She hesitates for a second. "No."

There's a sigh on the other line. "What happened?"

"We had no choice, two of them were ready to shoot and the third one was about to ambush us."

"Please tell me there's some good news."

"I think we have a way to draw out the remaining guys."

Carrie explains that she wants to send a message to the contact with an updated meeting point. And despite Saul's reluctance, he eventually agrees.

"We have a chance to meet up with the buyer" Carrie says, "it's worth a shot."

They send a message with a meeting point in an hour in a more secluded spot. While they wait, Saul instructs them to hide the bodies. Quinn immediately goes into autopilot and starts dragging the first of the men towards the back of the room. He's a bit startled when Carrie walks over and wordlessly starts to help.

She never makes eye contact but at the same time doesn't look repulsed or worried. She's completely professional. Just as she was when her reflexes kicked in earlier and managed to save them both from getting shot. And this makes Quinn start to think that even if Carrie has never been black ops, she would have no problem fitting in. He wonders just how much she'd hate him for telling her this.

When the meeting hour approaches, they head towards the established place. They push through the parade, keeping their eyes open. Trying to stay alert while the crowd moves around them from every direction proves to be exhausting, and Quinn feels like his nerves are getting fried after only a few minutes of walking. There's an alternate route to their meeting place, through a series of dark alleyways, and even though they agreed to avoid it, he's starting to think that Carrie is also ready to fold.

He turns to ask her. But finds that Carrie is nowhere in sight. Quinn stops and turns around, scanning the area, but there's nothing but the colorful and confusing parade.

He digs out his phone and dials. "Saul, Carrie's gone."

"What do you mean she's gone?"

"She just disappeared in this fucking chaos. I think they got her."

"I'll get the other team to circle the area. You stay put."

Quinn agrees, but it's just a formality, because they both know that's not going to happen. Whoever took Carrie needs a secluded spot if he plans to kill or get information out of her, and that doesn't leave him a lot of options. He rushes back to the abandoned library, carefully searching each room. When he finds nothing, Quinn stops by the old apartment complex. It's also deserted, so he heads through the maze of dark alleyways. The noise from the crowd still echoes from afar, bouncing off the walls like an inappropriate soundtrack.

Quinn is forced to stop his running to a light step when he starts hearing footsteps from somewhere close by. He readies his gun and glances around. As he rounds a corner he hears a light shuffle.

Carrie then appears. With a man holding a gun to her head.

"Drop the weapon" the man says, pushing his firearm closer to her head.

Quinn gets ready to lower his weapon, but freezes. Because he can't believe it when Carrie gives her captor an exasperated look. She kicks him the knee with force, and then hits him again for good measure. Quinn expects him to fall, but the man only stumbles back one step. And he shoots Carrie.

As soon as he does, Quinn pulls the trigger on him twice. He watches as the man falls down, two bullets lodged in his head.

Quinn kneels next to Carrie, expecting the worse. She's curled up on the ground and breathing fast, and he realizes the guy shot her in the leg.

"I'm okay" she says, clutching the bleeding leg. "I think."

He quickly alerts Saul where to send a vehicle to pick them up and get Carrie to the hospital. And once he puts the phone away, Quinn tries to help her keep the pressure on the wound.

"That was stupid, Carrie. Really, _really_ fucking stupid."

"It worked."

"You got _shot_."

"Exactly" she says. "He wanted to kill us both."

And just like that, realization strikes Quinn. "You knew this was going to happen."

Carrie nods. "He would've killed you the second you dropped your gun. And I was next, after he finished trying to get information out of me."

"What you did was absolutely insane. And I don't mean because of-"

"I know" she says. "I told you, you'd end up killed without me. And I think this is better deal."

"How is it better?"

She tries to smile. "Less paperwork."

He's still stunned by her actions, but restrains from telling Carrie just how risky she's been, because she's in obvious pain. And it starts increasing the second the adrenaline begins to leave her system. He stays by her side until the car arrives and picks her up.

Quinn braces himself to get an earful from Saul as they head back home, but he's only greeted by a slight nod. They've failed to capture any suspect alive, but Quinn believes that Saul is at least happy that they were able to collect the intel found on the their bodies. The mission as a whole wasn't ruined, but they did end up with four bodies, a casualty on their side, and a hurt officer. And it's hard to put a positive spin on something like that.

Once they're back home, he stops by the hospital and patiently waits by the nurses' station. He doesn't even bother asking what room Carrie is in because he can already hear her on the other side of the corridor, arguing with someone. And a few minutes later she shows up, one leg bandaged above the ankle, and walking with the help of a crutch.

"Can you believe they're trying to put me on leave for a few days?" she asks, fuming.

"Hi to you too, Carrie. And it's weeks."

She stops to look at him and see if he's kidding. "_Weeks_?"

"It usually takes about month until a gunshot wound closes up."

"So I'm supposed to just sit on my ass and do nothing for a few weeks?"

"No, there's still other things to do back at the agency."

She shakes her head vehemently. "No way, I'm not turning into some office drone. I need to be out there with the rest of you."

"Well I'll tell you what. You race me across this corridor and if you can beat me, I'll personally talk to your doctor about it."

She gives him an evil glance before turning to a nurse to sign a few discharge papers.

"You're sure you don't want to stay?" Quinn asks.

Carrie shakes her head. "I hate hospitals."

"Well I can sympathize, but that doesn't mean it's not a good idea to stay the night."

"I feel fine."

"That's just the painkillers talking."

"Look, can we just get out of here?" she says, fidgeting in place "I feel like I can't breathe in this place."

He nods. "All right. You need any help-?"

But before he can even finish the question, Carrie speeds off, taking quick steps towards the exit. She really doesn't enjoy spending time in hospitals.

"So how pissed was Saul?" Carrie asks him when he catches up.

"I'm never sure with him. Not that I blame him if he's pissed because the mission turned out to be a bigger mess than I thought."

"Does this happen a lot on your assignments? Things spiraling out of control."

"More than you think."

A rather smug look appears on her face. "Then it's a good thing I showed up."

Quinn can't help but smile. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

He expects Carrie to say that he owes her for taking the bullet, but she doesn't. As they walk through the hospital, all she does is curse and complain about the eerie look of the sterile corridors and how her days off-duty will be the death of her. And Quinn starts to realize just how glad he is that the angry machine of a woman beside him will always have his back.


	5. Almost Human

(Carrie has always spent the holidays working. But when work decides to leave without her she doesn't take it well.)

* * *

Carrie feels like she's been knocking on his door for ages. "Open the fucking door, Quinn!"

She can hear several footsteps approaching, but she can't seem to stop slamming her fist against the door. Because she's pissed and she needs answers. And the fact that she still has at least two more weeks of walking with a crutch and an injured leg just adds to her annoyance.

Eventually, the door creaks open just a few inches, and a tired, pale face appears behind it.

"Carrie, I have a phone" Quinn says.

She gives no sign of even listening when she pushes past him inside the house. "Did you know about what happened today?"

He shuts the door behind her, sighing. "How did you know where I live?"

"They just fucking _left_. Without us. Like it was no big deal."

"I never told you my address."

"I didn't even get a call from there until half an hour ago."

"Can you just show some sign that you can hear me when I'm talking?"

Carrie sighs, aggravated. "I know you have a phone but you didn't answer it, and I've always known where you live, I just didn't think it was important to mention it. Now can we get back to the actual problem?"

"Which is?"

"That Saul and the rest of the them left to run surveillance in another city and ditched us."

"They didn't ditch us, Carrie. It was decided that it would go better if we don't join them" he says. "Because you were shot a week ago, and I'm sick. We talked about this, remember?"

Carrie eyes him something fierce. "I can still run surveillance just fine."

"Not for long. You've been around me, so it's only a matter of time until the flu symptoms hit you too. I'm sorry, but that's just how things usually go."

"You didn't get me sick, I feel fine."

"Right, because your face is always flush."

"It is when I'm _angry_."

"And you might want to check that with your nose."

She takes a few angry steps inside the living room, pointedly slamming the crutch on the floor. She then reaches over the tissue box on the table and rips a square. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Carrie, I feel like death right now" he says walking next to her and then slumping into a chair, "And it's just a matter of time until it hits you too."

"I don't just get sick."

"I didn't know that you're made of reinforced steel."

"This is nothing" she says, dabbing the tissue under her nose.

"But it's going to turn into something in a few hours."

She shakes her head. "This whole thing is just ridiculous, I'm not sick. I'm alright to go on this assignment."

Quinn sighs deeply. "You ever notice that the only time you come talking to me, you're pissed about something?"

She opens her mouth to protest, but closes it right back. "Huh."

"And this time it's for a stupid reason because - and brace yourself for this - most people would be _grateful_ if they were told to stay at home the day before Christmas."

Carrie crosses her arms. "Maybe I'm not most people."

"Believe me, I know."

She sighs before resting the crutch on the wall and taking a seat opposite him. And for the first time since walking through his door she notices how empty the house is. There's nothing in the living room but the table and chairs they're sitting at, and a mattress with blankets in the corner. And the table looks like it was salvaged from a scrap yard.

She arches an eyebrow. "Nice lawn furniture."

"Thanks."

"I was being sarcastic."

"So was my thanks."

Carrie stares around, taking in the mostly empty room. "So are you repainting?"

"No."

"Refurbishing?"

"No."

Carrie isn't sure what to say.

"I'm not a big fan of messy places" Quinn offers as explanation.

"I don't think it's possible to even mess this up. There isn't enough furniture for that."

Carrie keeps glancing around, suddenly realizing that she's seeing Quinn for the first time at home, outside the context of the job. And it's bizarre seeing him in casual clothes and looking lethargic and sick. Almost human.

"I don't think I've ever seen you out of a suit before" she says, pensive. "Well, there was that time at the hospital but I'm still trying to block it out of my memory."

He glances away from her for a moment. "I didn't exactly expect a surprise drop-by today."

"I didn't mean it as a shot at you. It's just a little weird."

"And it's a little weird seeing you in a suit when you're just visiting."

Carrie looks down at her wardrobe, suddenly aware of her dressing choice. "I didn't even realize when I put it on this morning. I guess this is just default for me."

"And every other workaholic in the city."

She drums her fingers on the table, annoyed. Because he's right. If she tries to think of her last few days outside the job, Carrie can't come up with much except for a lot of late nights watching mindless TV and drinking.

She slumps in her chair. "Well, fuck."

Quinn frowns at her. "What?"

"We're pathetic."

"_We_?"

She gestures at the mostly empty room. "Yeah, neither of us have any lives outside the job."

"So?"

"That's _sad_."

"That's uncomplicated."

"What exactly is so complicated about having a hobby and friends?"

Quinn sighs and leans on the table. "Carrie, I'm too sick for debates right now."

She quickly realizes she's been taking out her anger on someone who doesn't necessarily deserve it. "Sorry. I'll guess I'll see you tomorrow." Carrie gets off the chair with a bit of difficulty and starts looking for her crutch.

"You don't have to leave."

She glances back from the corner of her eye. "I thought you were too sick to have a decent conversation."

"I know, but just stick around. You said it yourself, you need to do stuff outside of work."

"And I'm all for that" she says, sitting back down, "but I doubt there's anything to do around here. This place is basically nothing but a table. What exactly do you even do on your days off?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Take the guns apart and clean them."

"I mean normal things" she says, rolling her eyes.

"And what do you do that's so normal?"

"I garden."

Quinn has a hard time buying her story.

She gives him the evil eye. "And what's with the look?"

"I didn't think you were serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, you just don't seem like the type of person."

"To do what? Take care of living things?"

"Those aren't the words I was going to use, but yeah."

She makes a face. "Well thanks."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm absolutely shit at this sort of stuff. I went through five goldfish and three gerbils when I was a kid."

He goes on, talking about something, but Carrie can't seem to focus because her head is suddenly swimming and a bout of nausea hits. She quickly goes from crystal clear vision to haze in the blink of an eye.

When her eyes snap back into focus, Carrie realizes she's lying on something soft that's resting on the floor. She can tell Quinn is around close by.

"You okay?" his voice cuts through the fog.

"Why do you have a mattress in the living room?" she mumbles out.

"I don't have a bed."

"Oh." Carrie tries to sit up reluctantly. "Did I just throw up in your sink?"

"You tried to, at least."

She winces.

"Don't worry about it. Thanks to your horrible diet, there wasn't much to clean up."

Carrie narrows her eyes, trying to recall something. "Now that you mention it, I can't remember if I had lunch today."

"And that explains why the symptoms hit you so fast. That, and the leg is probably still hurting."

She rubs her temples, trying to chase away the remaining haze from her head. "So you've been feeling like _this_ all day?"

"Yeah."

Realization dawns on her. "And then I barreled in here to complain about work. And I insulted your furniture."

"Something like that."

She moves over to let some space next to her on the mattress. "Well don't just stand there. Sit down before you pass out."

Quinn regards her as if she's suddenly morphed into an alien. "Is the flu working like some sort of alcohol for you? Because you're acting nice all of a sudden."

"I think you mean 'guilty'."

He sits down next to her. "Why do you feel guilty?"

"Because I do this every year. I hate the holidays and I always end up dragging someone down with me because of it. Last year I roped in Maggie and we spent Christmas at a bar. We saw three different Santas puking that night."

"You don't have to feel guilty about that. Seeing drunk Santas is a staple of Christmas."

"Well, either way, I'm sorry. It looks like you're the one being dragged down this year."

He shakes his head. "You're not dragging me down."

"Well I'm not helping either. I came in here to argue, and I threw up god knows where, and I'm also pretty sure I scratched the floorboards with my crutch."

"You really need to stop feeling guilty over this sort of stuff."

"I can't." She slumps further into the mattress. "Sometimes I wonder what the fuck's the matter with me."

Quinn stares at her with worry, and then touches her forehead.

She just frowns. "What are you doing?"

"You're burning up."

"No, I'm not."

"I'm stick too, we're roughly the same temperature. And I'm starting to think this fever is seconds away from making you say weird shit."

She removes his hand. "I'm serious. I mean, how the fuck do I always end up doing these things? God knows I try to be a good person, but it just doesn't seem to ever work out."

"Carrie, you're just really sick right now. Stop beating yourself up."

"So if I told you right now that you're being a dick, then you'd just write it off as me being too feverish to know any better."

"No, I'd write it off as you just being yourself."

"See, that's it right there" she says, moving her arms a bit too frantically. "That's me. That's how people see me. Always angry and calling people names and acting shitty. I'm the one who's really being the dick and I don't know why."

"Carrie, I told you I can't do any existential debates right now" he says, resting his head on the wall.

She takes a deep breath and buries her head in her hands.

"You've got a headache too?" Quinn asks her.

"No. I just can't help wondering who I turned into. Who this person is that my past self wouldn't even recognize."

"It's a fact of life that we all end up different than what we imagined."

"Not this different. When I was a kid I had my whole life mapped out. I was going to study hard and be good at my job. Have everyone respect me. Buy a nice Porsche. Then find the right guy to marry and then maybe adopt three dogs."

He frowns. "No kids?"

"Kids and me never really mixed well."

"I don't know why I'm surprised."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Like you'd make such a great family man."

His face instantly darkens. And Carrie is taken aback by how quickly he gets his temper in check, going from upset to default unreadable in only the blink of an eye.

She looks at him with curiosity. "What was that about?"

"You mean other than the flu that's trying to kill me?"

"No, that look you gave me was something else. Like you were pissed at me for a second there."

"It's nothing, I'm just tired."

"Right" Carrie says, apprehensive. She's still trying to understand what happened and why he seemed to be upset by her friendly jab." His guard is definitely up, which just confirms that she really did manage to upset him somehow. And knowing Quinn, he's never going to tell her what's going on.

"So that's how the day before Christmas usually goes for you" Carrie says, "hanging around an empty house."

"I never spend the holidays at home. This year is just an exception."

"That doesn't mean you can't make it a good exception."

She tries to get up, but the second she puts pressure on her injured leg, Carrie is sent back down on the mattress. She mumbles curses under her breath as she clutches the bandage.

"If you're trying to rip out your stitches, then well done."

She glares at him. "Look, I know I pissed you off earlier and I don't get it. We always do this, throw digs at each other, but neither of us ever gets upset. So what's going on with you?"

"It's just the fever."

She shakes her head. "Don't bullshit me, I know it's not about that."

"Then I don't know what you want me to say, Carrie."

"How about the truth?"

Quinn stubbornly shakes his head at her, determined not to say anything.

"Fine" Carrie says, "then I guess you want to be left alone, so I'll be heading out." She instinctively tries to get up but changes her mind a second after. "As soon the stitches stop burning."

Quinn gets up instead and leaves the room. She waits for him to walk right through the front door with a fake calmness that just screams annoyance. But he heads towards another room. A few moments later he returns and throws something in her direction. Carrie catches a small bottle of pills.

"That should help with the pain" he says. And, to her surprise, he sits back down next to her.

Carrie pops the cap off and notices there are only a few pills left at the bottom. Her curiosity tempts her to ask why he seems to be fond of painkillers, but decides against it. She couldn't bring it up another time. Or maybe just not ask at all because it isn't her place.

The more she tries to figure out where they reside on the friendship spectrum the more the lines tend to scramble. Because they have each other's back during missions, and yet they never really spend any time outside the job. They constantly step on each other's toes but when things turn sour they manage to find a way to work together. The bottom line seems to be that they don't have a friendship in any traditional sense of the term (and she suspects they never will), but Carrie starts to think that maybe a nontraditional friendship never hurt anyone.

She takes one of the pills and then puts the cap back on. "Thanks for this."

He just nods once. As she hands him back the bottle, Carrie can't believe she managed to turn Quinn back to barely speaking and being closed off. Just because of a stupid comment.

And even though she's never been one for apologies, there's no point in letting the silence go on any longer.

"Listen, I'm sorry about-"

"Do you remember the day Estes brought me over to work with you and Saul?" he asks her.

"Yeah" she says reluctantly.

"And then a little later you asked Virgil and Max to search my house."

Carrie feels like a deer in the headlights. "You knew that was me?"

"Not at the time. It hit me later that you were the only one on the team who openly hated me enough to do that."

She just stays quiet and listens.

"Virgil never really told you what he found, did he?"

"He confirmed that you weren't some innocent analyst everyone thought you were."

"That's it?"

"That's not enough?"

He purposely avoids looking at her. "I never asked them exactly what they found that day, but I'm sure they saw this picture I keep of..." he hesitates for a bit, looking for the right word "my... family."

Carrie doesn't move a muscle, as if fearing that any movement on her part will just scare him away from saying what he's about to. Because for the longest time she's wondered about this family, and yet never once heard him mention it.

"I don't have the best relationship with them" Quinn says, "We don't even have one, if I'm honest."

"Why?"

"Because of the job. And me. I can't lie and say I don't have some part to play in it. I'm not exactly the warmest of people."

"I thought family was supposed to support you no matter what."

"That doesn't always apply when your job threatens to kill you every fucking day."

"And they don't get that?"

A razor thin smile appears on his face. "That's just the thing. She knows exactly what can happen in this kind of work field."

Carrie nods along until the detail registers in her head. "You're not talking about your mother or sister, are you?"

For a split second he looks like he's about to just spill every that's on his mind, all the things that, for whatever reason, he's keeping bottled up. But Quinn quickly goes back to being unreadable. "That's a story for another time."

The idea of waiting god knows how long before she finds out what the hell is going on in his head is frustrating, but Carrie decides to drop it and not push her luck.

"You should head back" he says. "It's the day before Christmas and your dad and sister are probably wondering why you're not with them."

"Are you kidding? I can't go visit them now. I'll end up giving my dad the flu and his OCD goes off the charts whenever he's sick."

Quinn's eyes narrow slightly. "How come you're not...?"

"Acting obsessive?"

"I wasn't going to put it so bluntly."

"I guess whatever pill you gave me is keeping me together."

"It was just a painkiller."

"Then it's working really well with the other pills the hospital gave me."

He slowly turns to look at her. "Carrie, exactly how many meds are you on right now?"

She thinks back to the chart of what pills to take and when that she was given after her short admission to the hospital. But it's all blurry in her memory. "I don't know. Somewhere around five."

He's just left stunned for a moment. "I think I'm ready to retract my earlier remark about you not acting crazy."

"You're no better than me, you know. Sitting all by yourself in a depressing house that echoes whenever a pin drops."

"And what do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know" she says, struggling to stand up. "But you're not staying here all day."

"And I don't think you have a say in this."

Carrie manages to stay upright just enough to grab her crutch for support. "Come on, get up."

"Carrie, if I try and move right now, I'll throw up on you."

"You don't have to threaten me with biological warfare."

"I mean it, I'm too sick to go to whatever bar you have in mind."

"So you're saying that you're weaker than someone who was shot a week ago, has the flu, and is more than likely high on a lot of fucked up meds?"

She doesn't expect to get him to move just because of a shot at his ego, but, surprisingly, it works. Quinn sighs deeply and reluctantly stands up.

"I'm serious about the bar thing" he says, "we're in no state to go drinking."

"I know. I had something else in mind."

"I'm a little scared to ask."

"You know that soup place a couple of streets over? I talked the owner into playing jazz instead of that shitty pop."

"So you want us to walk through two streets of snow just for some soup?"

"And good music."

He actually lets out a small laugh as he puts on his jacket. "You know, you didn't even ask me. Maybe I don't like jazz."

"_Now_ who's the crazy one?"


	6. In the Middle of Nowhere

(When a botched mission leaves everyone depressed, Saul institutes a policy where taking time off as a team is mandatory.)

* * *

Quinn hears the ringing of his doorbell as a distant annoyance, sounding miles and miles away, like he's still stuck inside a dream. He eventually realizes that the blanket he cocooned himself into may be at fault for that. The ringing persists, and since there's only one way to quiet it down, he slowly emerges from underneath the blankets and trudges his tired self towards the front door.

Once Quinn opens it, he's surprised to see it's gotten dark. And that Virgil is standing on his doorstep.

"Get dressed, we're going" Virgil says, motioning towards the parked car.

Quinn just shakes his head.

"I'm not asking, now come on. Saul's orders."

"Then tell Saul to kindly fuck off."

"And you can tell him that in person, I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

"I'm not going."

"It's mandatory and everyone's going. So if you stay at home then tomorrow you'll deal with endless speeches about how you're not a team player."

He sighs and steps back inside, heading towards the bedroom to change.

Virgil drives them up to an uncharacteristically quiet bar he's never seen before. It's low profile and it becomes clear to him the second they pass through the door that the entire team really is there. He wonders how much Saul had to struggle with threats to pull off such an accomplishment.

He spots Carrie sitting at the bar, her head lying on the counter. And despite the obvious mood she must be in, he decides to join her. Because poking the beehive will at least lead to something entertaining. Saul walks up to them the moment he takes a seat.

"Good to see you both made it."

Carrie makes a sound of derision. "I hope you're happy, because you dragged me out of my bathtub while I was reading 'The Great Expectations'."

Saul raises an eyebrow. "I've never once seen you read Dickens."

"Well you still interrupted a great bath."

"Is this really necessary?" Quinn asks Saul.

"I know we're all feeling a little burned out after today's assignment. Things went to shit and people got hurt, and that's exactly why we all need to stay together."

"I don't think wasting time in here will change our spirits in any way, Saul."

"So far you two have been the only ones with a horrible attitude about it. So learn to tough it out. Three hours isn't gonna kill you."

Carrie's face goes up. "_Three_ hours?"

"How is it possible for you people to go along with dangerous orders, but the second I tell you to blow off some steam you start fighting me?" Saul shakes his head. "Order a few drinks. Talk. Just fucking _relax_ for once. And I better see a smile on your faces by the time the night is over."

He walks off and settles at a table with similarly aged people Quinn has never seen before.

The bartender swoops in front of them and asks what they'd like to order. Carrie mumbles something. Quinn's order is 'just surprise me.'

As he waits, he looks over to Carrie and nudges her. "You okay?"

"I'm at a bar with my co-workers. After we fucked up an assignment. I don't think it's possible to be okay."

Carrie sighs and fidgets in her seat. And when she rests her head on her left hand, Quinn spots something on her finger.

"Nice engagement ring" he says.

Carrie looks at her hand, as if suddenly aware that she was wearing it.

"So what happened" he goes on, "the mission turns sour and you plan to elope to Vegas?"

"I think I grabbed it out of habit on my way out the door. It's fake anyway."

"Obviously. I'm just curious why you're wearing it."

"What do you mean _obviously_?"

"You're not exactly someone who's a big fan of commitment."

For a moment she looks like she's about to say something offensive, but just crinkles her nose instead. "I hate it when people say that like it's a bad thing."

"So why are you wearing it?"

"You know how guys start getting a lot of attention in bars the second they get married?"

"Carrie, you don't need a ring to get attention."

"I do in order to weed out the guys who want a relationship."

He has to admit it's a great trick. "You're kind of an evil genius."

"Take out the 'evil' part and I'll agree."

A large bottle is placed in front of his eye-line, and Quinn realizes that his order has arrived. A glass of whiskey slides in front of Carrie. She only raises an eyebrow in his direction before downing her drink in one swing.

Quinn stares at the bottle before pushing it away. "You might want to take it easy."

"If I blackout, then I don't have to endure three hours of this."

"And you'll wake up tomorrow with a killer hangover. And dicks drawn all over your face in magic marker, which I might be responsible for."

She rolls her eyes. "You just don't want to get through this by yourself."

"Misery does love company."

"So we're just supposed to sit here for hours" Carrie says, still upset by the idea.

"We can do something to kill some time."

"Like?"

"I don't know. Play Quarters."

She frowns. "College was a long time ago."

"Truth or dare?" he asks, just to see her make a face.

"Sixth grade was even a longer time ago."

"Then I can't wait to hear what you have in mind."

"We don't need to play any game, I'm sure we can find plenty to talk about."

Quinn waits for her to start or at least throw an idea into the conversation melting pot. But it looks like she's just as clueless as he is. Which means they're going to be stuck staring at the wall in front of them for the rest of the night.

"Fine" she says, exasperated, "we'll do it your way. Fucking truth or dare..."

He can't believe she's taking his ridiculous suggestion seriously. But then again, it could have potential for something interesting or destructive. And either way sounds rather fun.

"But some questions or dares are off limits" Carrie continues.

"Sure." He slides the bottle that he ordered in front of her. "As long as we agree to take a shot every time we refuse to do one."

She eyes the bottle with wary.

"And you can't let anyone in this bar know that we're playing, because that's cheating."

Carrie shrugs. "Fair enough. So who starts?"

He retrieves a coin from his pocket and flips it. "Call it."

"Tails."

Lady Luck seems to be on her side. "Tails it is. Dare."

Carrie looks at him. "You're getting overconfident from the get-go. Bad strategy."

"It's not a strategy, I just want to see what dare you've got up your sleeve."

"Okay" she says, shrugging "walk up to Saul and his buddies, and start drinking everything on their table."

He isn't sure he heard her right. "So you basically want me to steal. From our superior."

"Hey, if you're too scared-"

"Never mind."

He walks up to Saul's table, not even the inkling of an idea or plan in mind. It's not like him to blindly go head-first into a situation, but then again they're playing a game and he can't afford to show any uncertainty.

Saul's eyes dart up. "Something wrong, Peter?"

Quinn just shakes his head. He then takes a breath, and starts shotgunning their drinks.

For a moment all they can do is stare with bewilderment as he goes from glass to glass. And when his hand reaches the last one, Saul grabs his arm.

"I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing" Saul says, anger burning under the surface, "but you will be in a world of fucking hate tomorrow at the office. Now pay for these gentlemen's drinks and get out of our sight."

After his wallet significantly empties, Quinn retakes his seat at the bar. "Satisfied?"

"I was hoping things would escalate to a fistfight, but I'll take what I can get." She pauses. "Truth."

He has a whole mental list of uncomfortable questions to ask her and planned to start off with something easy. But after the first dare she made him do, it's becomes clear in his mind that the only tactic he can adopt is an eye for an eye.

"Have you ever been in a threesome?"

Carrie looks annoyed. "Oh, I get it, because I hate commitment I must stumble into threeways all the time."

"It's just a question, Carrie."

But she gets defensive anyway. "No, I've never been in one, have you?"

"You can't ask that unless I pick truth, and I'm choosing dare."

Carrie eyes him. "You're good at this."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Fine, then I'm upping the stakes. Refusing to answer or carry on a dare means you have to drink out of the bottle for five seconds. And the other person does the counting."

"That's just reckless."

A small smile appears on her lips. "You're scared?"

"For my liver, yeah."

"If you want to bow out, then go for it. I just won't ever let you forget it."

In the battle between liver versus ego, ego always won. There was just no way around it. "What's the dare, Carrie?"

She leans over the bar and grabs a blunt knife from the bartender's side. She slaps it in front of him.

Quinn stares at it. "You want me to kill someone."

"You see that Christmas tree?" She gestures towards the one sitting on the bar to his right. "I want you to cut off a small branch and eat it."

He expected something painful and difficult. "That's a bit anticlimactic."

"Are you up for it or not?"

She's planning something. He's been stuck in the wilderness before and made tea out of pine needles, so he knows it's perfectly safe. And yet there's no way she'd ask him to do something so innocuous without a hidden agenda. Or maybe she's just going easy on him.

He grabs the small knife as he sits up. And he catches a mischievous spark in Carrie's eye. She's definitely planning something. But he's never been one to back down from a challenge, and he's not going to start now.

There's absolutely no inconspicuous way to carry out her dare, so he decides to just get it over with as fast as he can. When Virgil showed up on his doorstep, Quinn didn't imagine he'd end up spending a part of his night by sawing off a Christmas tree branch. And yet he was doing it just to prove a point. But which point, exactly, he isn't sure.

He returns to the bar and sees that Carrie has left a plate and fork on his side. And she's trying really hard to contain her smile.

Quinn decides not to antagonize her anymore, and just finish the dare as quickly as possible. "Your turn."

"Truth."

"How many people in this room have you slept with?"

She makes a face. "What is it with men and asking sex questions?"

"If I can eat a Christmas tree, you can answer a question without protesting."

Carrie turns around and glances around the room as discreetly as she can.

"You have to _look_? Jesus."

"I could do without the color commentary" she says, still looking around the room. After a few more seconds of scanning, she turns back to the bar. "None."

He rolls his eyes. "Now you're just bullshitting me."

"I'm really not. Unless you count the creepy guy in the corner who once asked me if I wanted to join him and his wife on a 'cruise'."

"And you said no."

"Yes, I fucking said no. I don't get involved with people I work with." A pause. "Anymore."

Quinn is still not convinced of her honesty one hundred percent, but her expression is telling him pretty clearly to drop it. So he does.

"Dare."

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. He wonders if she's figured out why he keeps picking dare.

Carrie takes a napkin and places it front of him. "Draw a naked sketch of the bartender. And you have to hand her the napkin once you're done."

His previous words spring to mind yet again. Evil genius.

"You can stop pretending to consider it" she says "I know you won't do it."

"Why?"

"I can see you drawing it, but you wouldn't hand her the sketch. I know you're not a dick."

He grabs the bottle and unscrews the cap. "Start counting."

As expected, she counts agonizingly slow, just enough to see him squirm. And once she reaches five, the world feels a little bit like it moved. He takes a few moments to get his bearings. This is bad.

"Dare me" a voice says, and he suddenly remembers that there's still a game going on. And by the looks of it, she's following his strategy of avoiding questions.

"Go over to the guys' table and kiss Max. And I don't mean a grandmother peck, I want everyone to see some subtext."

To his surprise, Carrie turns around and looks over at the table, considering it. She then angles back to the bar with a worried expression. "Virgil's going to kill me, isn't he?"

"My guess is with a shovel."

"Dammit."

"There are other options. You either drink... or you pick 'truth'."

She's visibly pissed off at the way he managed to spin the situation in his favor. "Fine. Truth."

"What's the worst thing your disorder ever made you do?"

She immediately starts shaking her head. "I changed my mind. Give me the bottle."

He wants to call her out on the fact that she seems too afraid of revealing something. But then again, so is he.

Just to get a little payback, Quinn makes sure to count just as slowly as she did before. But he's interrupted when his stomach starts clenching something fierce. He frowns, wondering what the hell is going on.

Carrie lets out a small laugh as she places down the bottle.

"What's so funny?" he asks her.

"The Christmas tree is doing that."

"Pine needles aren't toxic."

"The ones found in nature aren't. The tree on the bar was coated with chemicals to make it stay fresh longer."

He's stunned for a moment. "You poisoned me?"

"Just a little bit."

There's nothing to say to that because the situation is just too ridiculous and bizarre. Quinn takes a deep breath and heads towards the restroom.

"Going to throw up?" he hears her asking, a laugh just under the surface.

She really is evil at this game.

As the night wears on, they both start dropping all pretense of being serious and professional and start making up more and more ridiculous dares, until both of them have no choice but to keep avoiding 'truth' and resorting to the bottle. It's a juvenile idea, but after a failed mission that ended up people getting hurt, acting childish is exactly what they need to raise their spirits.

The bottle doesn't even look like it's emptied. Which means they've already went through one and had to open another. Or three. Quinn is both a little impressed and worried that they've lost count.

A few hours later something changes. Because Carrie mumbles "you'll love this" when he picks dare yet again.

She stands and leans over the bar, searching for something. And he averts his eyes when her shirt goes up a few inches, revealing her back. He can't let the alcohol in his system start putting ideas in his head because he'd cross into dangerous territory. This is just a game. And she's doing all she can to rattle his confidence and confuse him.

Carrie eventually places a champagne glass in front of him. Then slips her engagement ring inside.

"I dare you to give this to Lisa."

Quinn narrows his eyes, trying to recall who she could be talking about. But he's drawing a blank. "Who?"

"Lisa Mackenzie, the surveillance specialist who always flirts with you."

He has no idea who she's talking about.

Carrie stares at him in disbelief. She then lets out a short laugh. "You're kidding. How the fuck could you not notice?"

"I don't know, I'm always busy with-" And it suddenly sinks in. "Wait, you want me to give her an engagement ring."

"Yeah."

"But she'll think-"

"Yeah. You're pretty much fucked. And not just metaphorically, if you play your cards right."

She's got him trapped, and she knows it. He reaches over and grabs the bottle with a heavy sigh.

Carrie's eyes widen. "Seriously? I'm basically playing wingman for you. I should get a fucking medal for this."

"Shut up and start counting."

"You're a hell of a masochist."

He glares. "Can you please not say that out loud when we're in a fucking bar? Just start counting."

"All right, it's your funeral."

She goes easy on him this time, but he has no idea why. Maybe she's too wasted to remember she has to count slowly.

The bottle keeps going back and forth between the two of them as the game goes on. Until Carrie throws him another curveball.

"I dare you to talk about your family."

She's picked up on the fact that he hasn't been choosing dares out of bravery, but because he's been running away from the questions.

"You can't dare me to talk about something. That's cheating."

"I think it's pretty obvious that we've both been trying to cheat all night."

Quinn reaches for the bottle again, but her hand stops him.

"I'll answer something personal too" Carrie offers.

And for whatever reason, he nods. Maybe because it wouldn't be so bad to try and open up a little. "What do you want to know exactly?"

"Who's the woman you said you keep a picture of?"

He fails to add the fact that there's also a baby in that particular picture. "She's a cop. We met on an assignment in New Mexico a few years ago."

She nods, urging him on.

"I don't remember what we were supposed to be doing on that mission, but I know that we didn't get along. We argued left and right and I think at one point she threatened to shoot me for taking charge of the whole assignment. But for some reason... we just clicked. When things got bad, we set aside our differences and we managed to pull through."

"What happened?"

He's not sure exactly how to word it. "Bad luck. We got reckless, and said it all became too unsafe and she didn't want to be stupid. So after a few hours of arguing we agreed it was better if we just went on our different ways. That it was better if she wasn't anywhere near any of the dangerous shit from my job."

Quinn stops abruptly, because dealing with bad memories while drunk is never a good idea. He expects her to ask him more questions, but they never come. And they both fall silent.

"You can ask me that question now" Carrie says after a while.

He has a million on his mind, but the situation just doesn't seem like the right one. They're both too tired and still depressed after their botched assignment. "Maybe later."

The bar starts emptying soon after, and Quinn has to check his watch twice before it sinks in that several hours really did just go by in a blur. He says his goodbyes to the few people he knows before returning to the bar. Carrie seems engrossed by the surface of the bottle, and tapping the glass with her fingers, as if she's scaring off imaginary fish.

He sits back down, but feels something foreign in his back pocket. He frowns as he digs it out. "Carrie, why do I have Saul's wallet?"

"It was a dare." A pause. "I think."

He shrugs, trying to make a mental note to return the wallet the next day. Provided he'll even remember. "So are you ready to emerge from the vodka pool?"

Carrie shakes her head, eyes still on the bottle. "I like it here. It's nice."

"I'm not a good lifeguard, so if you start drowning, you're on your own."

She struggles to sit up in her seat and then eyes him as if he's suddenly morphed into a different being. "You've been drinking just as much as me all night. How the fuck are you still so sober?"

"If you think I'm sober right now, then you're _really_ gone."

"Well you sure look normal. Thought you'd be dancing on tables by now. Or wearing a lampshade."

"I have a last line of defense before that sort of stuff. And it's not coming down."

"Because it can't? Or you won't let it?"

He says nothing, but the answer is obvious.

She suddenly laughs. "You haven't relaxed one fucking day in your life, have you? With your brain always on overdrive you'll end up dead in two years. At least you'll die while you're still hot, so there's that."

It quickly hits him that, while he has a last ounce of sobriety that keeps him from making bad decisions, she doesn't.

"Maybe you should start thinking about heading back home."

She shakes her head. "Five more minutes."

"Carrie, we have to work tomorrow. Remember work? It's that thing that pays your bills."

It looks like his reminder does get through to her because she sighs heavily and gets off her seat. "You were much more fun when we were playing."

Quinn wordlessly helps her up, and they both trudge down the stairs and out of the bar like old drinking buddies.

"I still owe you a question" she says, once they're outside.

"You don't owe me anything, it's fine."

"What you did back there was big deal. I know it takes a lot out of you to talk about that sort of stuff."

He shrugs a fraction, trying to seem nonchalant.

But her gaze seems to indicate that she sees right through it. He wonders if her senses somehow heighten when drunk, but the speculation ends abruptly when she catches him off-guard. She simply grabs him by the shirt and kisses him.

And the world shifts. But the reality of the situation comes crashing down mere seconds later. He gently pushes her away.

"Your fucking last line of defense..." she mumbles.

"It's not just that."

She's obviously not in the right state of mind, and has already made it clear a few hours before that getting involved with people from the job isn't smart. It's not right, and he can't let her do something she'll regret the next day.

"Forget it" Carrie says, stepping back, and suppressing her anger.

"You know why it's a bad idea."

"Seriously, forget it."

And she simply walks off, trying to flag down a taxi.

And Quinn feels like he's stuck in the middle of nowhere with no idea what to do. He has a hard time understanding if she's truly pissed off, or sad, or as okay with it as she's acting. The only thing that's clear is that she won't be easy to work with for a few days.

He finds her the next morning in the briefing room, clutching her head like it's about to explode.

"Morning" he says wary, taking a seat.

"Yeah, morning..." She rubs her temples, and the lowers her voice. "Hey, what the hell happened last night?"

He tries to look honest. "No idea."

A few moments later, Saul barrels in the room, his movements tense and angry. And Carrie immediately looks at Quinn with concern, her gaze repeating the implied question.

Saul eyes the both of them. "Which one of you thought it was funny to take my fucking wallet last night?"


	7. A Human Island

(A lengthy undercover operation leaves Carrie and Quinn with too much time to antagonize each other. As well as insomnia.

_This is probably one of the most ridiculous things I've ever written. I'm not even sorry._)

* * *

She looks at her fake credentials with disdain and maybe a bit of curiosity. Carrie never expected to see the word 'married' on an ID with her picture on it. But she can rest easy because it's not really her who has a husband, it's Holly Callaghan, a fictitious person she will have to emulate for a few weeks.

Their assignment is an odd one, but she accepted it all the same because if it's one thing that piques her interest, it's strange operations. And this time she has to pretend to be a much talked about woman who trades intel along with her husband.

A sound of annoyance rips Carrie out of her mind space and she looks over at Quinn, who can't seem to stop adjusting the ring on his finger. She laughs inwardly and then turns to look out the window of the train. She's used to wearing her fake engagement ring whenever she leaves to find a one night stand, and a wedding band feels just the same to her.

There's not a lot of legwork to do on the assignment, it's all about maintaining appearances and making the other suspects feel as comfortable as they can, until their leader decides to step out of the shadows and show face. Which means it's only a matter of time before Carrie becomes accustomed to the tension, and everything turns into monotony. And maybe that's not such a bad thing. Staying in a hotel room for a few weeks with someone who barely talks sounds like a real holiday. And god knows she could use one.

Their hotel room looks much more cramped than she imagined, but it's the only one in proximity to the people they're about to meet. Besides, the view out the window looks rather nice. Until Quinn draws the blinds over it. She lets out a little sigh, knowing that the idea of relaxing doesn't really mesh with her job.

A few hours later they meet up with a group interested in their (fake) intel, inside a dingy warehouse. And Carrie's surprised by how pedestrian the whole exchange takes place. If she didn't know any better, she could be convinced that they're merely meeting with old friends to chit chat and share pleasantries. They talk and make jokes, all the while wondering when and if they leader will show up. But when he fails to show face, they're forced to depart with the promise of another meet-up in the near future.

Back at the hotel room, they set up for their surveillance, and the room quickly becomes a mess of wires and equipment.

-.-.-

Carrie spends the first night on the floor because she's adamant about keeping things equal and that she doesn't want him doing her any favors. But despite the two blankets under her, the floor still feels cold and uncomfortable. It's frustrating and that means sleep won't come easy. But she's not about to cave and admit to being wrong.

"Carrie?" a voice whispers.

"Holly."

"What?"

She sits up on her elbows. "_Holly_. We need to get used to these names. We can't let our real ones slip out."

Quinn thinks on this for a moment. "You know, 'Holly' really isn't a good name for you."

"Why?"

"It's too sweet."

If she wasn't on the floor, she'd punch his shoulder. "Thanks."

"You can't be offended by that, you already know you're not sweet. And it's a good thing."

"Like Rob is such a good fake name for you."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's too plain."

"You need to work on your insults, Carrie. You're slipping."

"Just tell Saul I'm picking the cover names next time."

"Fine."

A pause.

"What did you want to ask me?"

"Nothing" he says, "never mind."

She sighs and goes back to the cold floor, wondering who had the nerve to say that women are a great and complicated mystery. Because sometimes men are just as impossible to read.

-.-.-

A week passes with nothing from the interested group. Quinn reassures her that it's what usually happens and that they just have to sit tight for a few more days. But all the waiting around is getting to her, and soon enough Carrie finds that she's too upset to even sleep.

She wakes up angry one night because all of her joints are aching. It seems weird to think, but after all the days of sleeping on the hard floor, she's somehow developed a personal vendetta against it. Carrie pushes the blankets aside and then throws her shoes at the floor with anger. It doesn't solve anything, but at least it makes her feel a little better. She climbs into the empty space on the bed.

"Not taking the floor again" a sleepy voice says from under the covers.

"Me neither."

"Fine."

"Okay."

And that's the end of it.

The next few days it's the same story. She insists that it's all right and she's used to it, but the floor ends up hurting her back all the same. And after the second night she tries to sneak into the bed, she hears him mumble "we can just share the space."

Carrie relishes this small victory because she wasn't the one to cave and say it. And she drifts off to sleep.

-.-.-

The surveillance of their suspects often remains uneventful and stretches for hours, much like the silence between them. It's strange how quickly they've become accustomed to each other. They work together as if they've done it for years, settling into a comfortable routine. And the thought doesn't sit well with Carrie because bad things always happen whenever she gets comfortable.

"So I've got a question" she says, just to put an end to the companionable silence.

"What is it?"

"How many people have you killed?"

But she doesn't succeed in fazing him. "When?" Quinn asks, not even looking away from the laptop screen. "This year? This month?"

Carrie lets the questions hang in the air. Sometimes she forgets how terrifying he can sound.

-.-.-

She's never been a morning person. At 6 AM Carrie's entire universe is comprised by what she sees through her limited tunnel vision, which usually restricts her to a few foggy, disjointed thoughts.

So when the irritating light peering through the blinds hits her face, she finds herself stumbling into the bathroom, annoyed and tired, but pushed on by her internal autopilot. She starts digging through the medicine cabinet and grabs some toothpaste along the way.

"You know I'm in here, right?"

Carrie has to turn her head all the way before realizing that the shower curtain is closed and there's someone behind it. She shrugs once before returning to her task at hand. "Relax, I'm just looking for my toothbrush."

The shelves are littered with all kinds of little bottles and useless things. She picks them up one by one and looks at them with curiosity, wondering why some of the labels are in Russian.

"Carrie, this is weird."

"You have a shower curtain, how is it weird?" she says, absentmindedly rifling through the medicine cabinet.

"It just is."

"You know, last I checked you were the one who had no problem getting naked in front of me at that hospital."

"Yeah, but that was before we were friends."

"So getting naked in front of acquaintances is no big deal, but doing it in front of a friend crosses a line?"

"Something like that."

Carrie stops to think if she's too tired to understand him or he's just being ridiculous. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Next time you take a shower, I'll walk in on you and see how you feel about it."

She shrugs. "I wouldn't care."

"Right."

"I'm serious."

"So our close relationship wouldn't make you feel weird at all."

"I have a close relationship with my toothbrush but that doesn't mean I care if it's in the bathroom while I'm taking a shower."

"Then you wouldn't care if I tried to prove you wrong."

"If you're done rambling, can you tell me where my damn toothbrush is?" she asks, carelessly throwing things she doesn't need into the sink.

"Middle shelf, behind the mouthwash."

Carrie stops her digging for a moment, an eyebrow raised. He has to be joking. But when she slides the bottle out of the way, the toothbrush jumps right into her view.

"Found it?" Quinn asks.

She hates that he's always right. "Nope, it's not there."

-.-.-

She feels like a sleepwalker sitting under the spray of the water, waiting for the coffee to kick in and wake her up already. The sound of the bathroom door opening and closing gives her a little jolt, but still not enough to snap her out of it.

"Trying to prove your point already?" Carrie asks with a half-yawn.

"You're lucky I didn't make this a bet. I would've cleaned your wallet."

She wants to point out that it's never good to be smug, but she's distracted by a familiar rustling sound.

"Hold on, are you reading the paper?"

"Thought I'd multitask. Since you're so okay with this."

"All right" she says, but it somehow comes out sounding way too meek.

"If you want me out, you can admit you're wrong any time now."

"No, you go for it. Enjoy the paper. Pull up a seat and relax for all I care."

Somewhere along this ridiculous game, she's forgotten what point she's trying to prove exactly. But Carrie has to keep sticking to her guns because it's too late to back out now.

"So how's the weather today?" she asks matter-of-factly.

"I don't know, the paper only covers sports."

"Oh. Anything good in there?"

"If you're making small talk because you're feeling weird, then-"

"I'm just trying to stay awake. I'm getting bored over here." She freezes for a second, realizing what she just said. "That wasn't an invitation."

"I'm aware."

She's all over the place and losing her cool just a minute into this. So maybe Quinn has a point that things are weird. Carrie shakes away the thought the moment it comes in her mind because of course he can't be right. She would rather spend an entire day in here than admit to that.

She resolves to keep her mouth shut. And few minutes later she turns off the water and starts getting dressed. But halfway through she realizes she's left her pants on the hook by the door.

"Quinn, you still out there?"

"Yeah."

"Can you hand me my pants?"

"Sorry, I'm busy with the paper."

If this is how he wants to play it, then she can go along.

Carrie throws a towel around her frame and steps out. And the second her feet touch the floor, she slips backwards, smacking the back of her head on the edge of the tub.

It takes a few moments, but she eventually stops seeing two of everything.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asks, looming over her.

"Yeah." When she checks her head, her fingers comes back stained with blood. "Maybe not."

She clutches a hand to her head, trying to keep the blood from trickling on the floor while he helps her up. They stumble together out of the bathroom like two wasted people out of a bar.

"See, I told you this wouldn't be weird" she says.

He just gives her a perplexed stare.

-.-.-

The end of another monotonous day of surveillance finds her lying on the bed, barely asleep. And a few hours into the night, the streetlamp lights start peering through the closed blinds, and they wake her up completely. She doesn't understand why she's been having such a hard time sleeping lately. Maybe it's all the anxiety of the assignment.

The clock on the bedside blinks every few moments, a constant reminder that it's almost tomorrow and she still has a few more hours of rest left. After a while she decides that the lights are too distracting so she turns on her other side. And through her half open eyes she can see Quinn just staring at the ceiling, wide awake.

"Jesus!" She jolts backwards.

He doesn't seem fazed by her little yell. "Bad dream?"

"No" she says, trying to calm down, "You."

"So, nightmare."

"No."

He looks at her, puzzled. "Good dream?"

"I saw you just sitting there like a corpse and it startled me."

"Oh. Well sorry, but I can't sleep."

"So you have to sit there like that? You look like a robot that has to recharge or something."

It's clear that her words sting a bit because his expression shifts. And he drops all pretenses to be courteous. "I'd be able to get some sleep if you wouldn't snore like a 747 jet."

Carrie draws back, a frown on her face. "I don't snore."

"No, that's just what guys tell you so you don't kick them out of bed."

"Just because you can't sleep doesn't mean you have to act like a dick."

"Do you still smoke whenever you're really nervous?"

The question catches her somewhat off-guard. "Yeah. But that's not enough to cause me to snore."

"The Nile isn't just a river in Egypt, Carrie."

And with just a few words he's managed to rile her up. "Fine, then I'm going to go sleep in the fucking bathtub."

She grabs her pillow and swings one foot out of bed when Quinn says, "No, you're not. I'm going."

Carrie can't help but feel slightly touched by his actions. But it all goes out the window the second he says: "The bathroom has good acoustics and I don't want the whole hotel to start shaking."

She throws her pillow at his head as he walks inside the bathroom.

The next night she expects to have the whole bed to herself, but Quinn's back there by her side, determined to get a good night's sleep "even if it kills me".

But this time it's her who can't seem to get some rest. Carrie's not used to hanging around so closely to someone. She's never really had a lot of friends, not close ones anyway, if she thinks about it. She's always been a human island. And that's why the current situation is uncharted territory for her.

She twists and turns on the bed for a few hours before realizing that no, she won't be able to get any sleep. Carrie reaches over in one of her bags next to the bed. After fishing out a brightly pink iPod, she settles back into bed.

"You all right?" a voice asks her.

"Yeah. Just can't sleep."

"I don't think noisy music will help you with that."

"It's Bill Withers."

Quinn turns to look at her with a frown. "I thought you only liked modern jazz."

"I'm trying to branch out."

Judging by his expression, he's not buying it.

Carrie glances away. "It's my sister's iPod. I couldn't find my own so I sort of borrowed hers."

"Sort of."

"Okay, I stole it with premeditation."

"Now that sounds more believable."

She tries to think up of a retort, but her head's empty at this hour. Might as well drop the sarcastic demeanor for once. "Sorry I woke you up."

"It's okay. I wasn't having such a good night anyway."

"Here" she says, holding up one of the earpieces.

"I'm not a big soul fan."

Carrie frowns. "Everyone likes 'Ain't No Sunshine'." But when Quinn keeps shaking his head, she adds "Come on, it's going to lull you right to sleep. Trust me."

He decides to do things her way and settles next to her. And their proximity brings a faded image in her head. A foggy, drunken memory from a few weeks ago tries to make its way to her point of focus. But Carrie can't hang onto it and it drifts right back into obscurity. She has no idea what that was about, but makes a mental note to go easier on the alcohol in the future.

-.-.-

Two days later they finally get a call, one that confirms that the leader is interested to see them. And despite the fact that it takes them quite a lot of time and persuasion, they manage to convince him to meet outside of the warehouse. It's not public, and it's out in the air, a perfect place to take him out.

Carrie feels vaguely conflicted with this, but Saul reassures her over the phone that the leader would never let himself be captured, and that it's their only option.

And yet, that night leaves Carrie wide awake. When she glances to her left, a sense of envy overcomes her, because Quinn's peaceful and still form just reminds her that she can't sleep. Nothing ever seems to faze him and sometimes his behavior downright puzzles her. And since she can't get any rest, Carrie decides that it's not fair that he can.

She nudges his shoulder. "Quinn."

He doesn't even turn around. "Yeah."

Might as well ask him about one of those puzzling behaviors of his. "You always place your toothbrush at a forty-five degree angle every time you put it back. Same with your phone, wallet, keys."

"And?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess it's just a quirk of mine."

"You don't have any quirks. You always act like you were genetically engineered to be professional."

"Thanks."

Carrie shakes her head. "It wasn't a compliment."

"Then good night."

A few more seconds tick by.

"You never really answered my question" she points out.

Quinn sighs heavily and turns around to face her. "You're right, it's not a quirk. It's a habit. They guy who trained me years ago made me do it every night until it became engrained in my mind."

"What's the point?"

"It's an easy way to tell if someone went through your things."

She has to admit she's a bit impressed. "That's actually pretty smart."

"It is. Can I go back to sleep now?"

She raises her hands in surrender. "Go right ahead."

After he turns back around, Carrie riffles through her head for more things to ask, just to keep him awake.

But before she can find one, Quinn speaks first. "And yes, I know you used my toothbrush two days ago."

"No, I didn't."

"You placed it at the right angle, but you forgot that I keep it with the bristles down, not up."

She lets out an aggravated sigh. "Then why didn't you say anything two days ago?"

"Because now you owe me."

Now she's really confused. "For using your toothbrush?"

"Goodnight, Carrie."

-.-.-

The next night she manages to drift off to sleep rather quickly. She expects to have a violent dream or at any rate, a restless one, but Carrie ends up with her feet in the sand, overlooking the water. The sound of the ocean is the only noise pleasantly buzzing in her head.

Until she's ripped out of it.

She wakes with a start, and instinctively goes for the gun on the nightstand.

"Easy, it's just me."

It takes a moment for her to realize that she's awake. And, for some reason, Quinn is busy throwing various weapons inside a duffel bag.

She puts the gun down. "What's going on?"

"Change of plan."

"What kind of change?"

"We were supposed to take the leader out from a distance. But it turns out he never meets people outside unless one of his best guys is also present."

"That doesn't change things all that much."

"It does, actually. Now get dressed."

"Why? Where are we headed?"

"Target practice."

Things suddenly slip into place. "Hold on. You want me to play sniper while you meet with the leader."

"Yeah."

"That's not gonna happen."

A little frown appears on his face. "Funny, that's what Saul said too."

"I'm no good with shooting from a distance, but you are. You're a great shot."

"So are you, but you just need a little bit more practice."

"Look, I appreciate the concern, but I'm all right with playing bait. I've done it before."

"Not like this, you haven't. We're taking high profile criminal who's an arms expert, and he'll be accompanied by another guy who's just as good as him. We can't afford any mistakes."

"And that's why you're much better suited for this than me. There's a much bigger chance for me to fuck this up."

"It's fine" he says, detached, "I've been shot plenty of times before."

"So, what, you've developed superpowers after the last time?"

He stops the frantic packing to look at her. "You have a family to get back to after this."

She glares right back. "That is such bullshit. Someone's life doesn't mean more than someone else's just because there are other people attached to it.

"It does. And you know it."

"Okay, listen to me" she says, getting off the bed, "I trust you to take the two of them down. Do you trust me not to fuck up the rest?"

"Carrie, this isn't about-"

"It's a simple 'yes' or 'no' answer."

He stops to consider her words, not sure what to say if she can even be swayed. "I trust you, but-"

"That's all I need to know."

As they walk towards the warehouse, Carrie can feel his stare burning right through the back of her head. Quinn's pissed by her decision to stick to the plan, and it shouldn't bother her too much because she's upset him plenty of times before. But this time it feels different somehow.

When they reach the point where they separate, he asks her one more time to switch roles, but she just shakes her head and sends him on his way. And for a second his doubtful stare almost makes her change her mind.

It's going to be fine, Carrie tells herself as soon as the two men come into sight. All she has to do is trust that Quinn will make both of the shots.

She shakes hands with the leader and his obvious bodyguard. And when they inquire about her husband not being present she makes up an excuse about him being late. She just has to keep them talking until Quinn aligns the shot. As they make small talk, Carrie hands them a large file filled with fake intelligence.

The leader takes it from her grasp and starts leafing through the papers. And the more he looks over them, the more Carrie starts being filled by dread. Because the intel is obviously just bullshit, and Quinn should've taken the shot by now. Something's wrong. The two men share a quizzical look when they reach one of the pages, and the look quickly turns into a frown.

Carrie resolves to stay calm. And when she tries to take a deep breath, blood splatters her face. And one second later her shirt is sprayed by more blood as the bodyguard falls down. She blinks a few times and wipes the blood from her eyes before looking in front of her to confirm that they're both dead.

She allows herself one breath of relief before she moves to picks up the fake files and starts walking away.

Quinn joins her a few moments later. "Are you all right?"

"You hesitated. What happened?"

"I don't know" he says, trying to hide his shaking hands. "I'm sorry."

She looks at him in completely disbelief. He's never hesitant to take a shot, not even in highly risky situations.

"You all right?" he repeats.

Carrie is tempted to ask him the same thing.

-.-.-

There's a particular foreign feeling that hits her the second she walks through her front door. She lets the few bags that she has been carrying fall onto the floor before heading into the kitchen. Carrie scours the fridge for a moment before realizing that of course there's nothing in there when she hasn't gone grocery shopping in weeks.

She takes her fake wedding ring off and lets it fall into the bowl where she keeps her keys. And instantly gets the feeling that something's missing. But Carrie shakes it off. After over a month of being stuck in a small hotel room with someone else, it's going to take a while to get back to her old routine.

Carrie decides to abandon the task of unpacking or having dinner and just falls onto her bed and shuts her eyes. The clock ticks constantly and she feels like it's weighing on her brain. Because she knows there's no way she can go to sleep. She listens to the sound of the neighborhood and dogs barking every so often. And every few moments she turns her head to ask something, but realizes that the other side of the bed is empty.

The next morning Carrie ends up on Quinn's doorstep, more or less unsure of why she decided to stop by so early in the day. The door opens to reveal a frown.

"Something happened?"

Carrie shakes her head. "I was just in the neighborhood."

After he lets her inside, she holds up the small plastic container with a toothbrush. "Because I owe you."

The ghost of a smile appears on his lips. "Thanks."

For the first time since walking inside his home she notices that there's a bag perched on the table behind him. "So I heard right. They're sending you on some operation without me."

"Yeah, New Delhi. For about three weeks."

"Well congrats" she says, trying to mask the surprise. "I hear it's nice over there."

"It won't matter, I'll spend most of my time underground anyway."

Carrie nods along as silence falls over them. She's not sure what she's supposed to say.

"Since you're here" Quinn says, as if remembering, "I thought you could do me a favor." He walks over to the bag and fishes out an IMI Deagle. "Maybe you could keep an eye on it until I get back."

It's such a strange thing to receive as a token, but at the same time it's perfectly fitting.

"You're not going to bill me for any missing bullets, are you?" she asks, an eyebrow arched.

"Depends who you use them on" he says, shouldering the bag.

"Then I guess I'll see you when you get back." For a moment she almost says '_if _you get back'.

They sit still for a few moments. They've always kept each other at arms' length, but Carrie suddenly decides that it's a dumb thing for friends to do. She leans in and gives him a tight hug.

"Take care of yourself, all right?"

"I'll try" he says, surprised by the gesture. "But that's going to be hard to do without my favorite gun."

She frowns. "Your favorite weapon is a Desert Eagle?"

"Is that too vanilla for you?"

"No, it's just that the Deagle's very noisy."

Quinn shrugs. "So are you."

She lets out a small laugh, despite herself. "Stay safe."

"And you make sure not to drive Saul insane while I'm gone."

-.-.-

The next few days go by one by one in a monotonous haze. Carrie shows up at work, attends meetings and briefings. Gets the paperwork done. But it quickly becomes tedious and boring, and she realizes that what annoys her the most is that she can't make use of her usual outlet to de-stress. Because there's no one to throw sarcastic remarks at without any consequences.

Over lunch, she tries to make a few shots at Saul. But all she gets in return is his typical, stern 'what is the matter with you?' look. So she drops it.

Things aren't less boring back at home. Carrie spends a few minutes looking blankly inside her fridge, despite the fact that it's so empty she expects to see tumbleweed rolling by. She shuts the door a moment later. It's just as well. She's not used to eating dinner anyway.

Carrie brushes her teeth while wondering what the weather is like in New Delhi. And a second later a realization hits her like a bag of bricks.

She can't believe it. She actually misses him.

For the moment Carrie isn't sure if she should laugh or be surprised because for the first time in what feels like forever she's actually let her guard down enough for a friend to slip in next to her. And the idea feels slightly foreign and comfortable at the same time.

She's tempted to give him a call just to yell. Because bad things always happen when she starts to care for someone.

When she finishes up in the bathroom Carrie throws her toothbrush in the holder with a heavy sigh, and heads for bed. But something doesn't feel right, so she turns around. She then moves the toothbrush in its holder until it's at a forty-five degree angle. Bristles down.


	8. The Look on Her Face

(Saul isn't happy when two of his best people come back from the field not talking to each other.)

* * *

It's bad enough that he has to put out fires all day at the Agency, and now Saul finds out that he has yet another problem to deal with. He strides down the hall, wondering what the fuck happened this time.

He finds them sitting on opposite sides of the bench in front of his office, purposefully not looking at each other. And the sight makes Saul want to grab them both by the back of the neck and hit their heads together.

When she sees him, Carrie stands and tries to say something, but Saul raises a hand. "Not a word." He sighs. "Seeing our people refusing to work each other makes _everyone _look bad. Did that idea even enter your fucking minds?"

They both shake their heads, more or less uncomfortable.

"Because the report you gave me was incomplete and almost nonsensical, I'll need to talk to each of you separately." Saul gestures towards his right. "Peter."

Carrie instantly bristles. "_H__e _gets to go first?"

"You don't get to say a word until it's your turn, understand?"

She sits back down, a twitch of irritation on her face.

Saul makes sure to close the door to his office once they enter, and he falls into his chair, a headache already threatening to take over. Quinn takes a seat opposite him, somehow looking even more quiet and composed as he usually is.

Saul doesn't even know where to start. "What the hell happened?"

"I fucked up" Quinn says, as if that explains everything. "And she took it badly."

"Just start from the beginning."

"We flew across the state and then drove the rest of the way, like we were briefed. Our instructions were to book a room and run surveillance on our suspect until something would pop. Of course, Carrie wasn't in the best of moods that day..."

-.-.-

"Lunch isn't a spectator sport " she said, glaring at him.

"I'm not eyeing your coffee, Carrie. I'm just trying to parallel park, and your head happens to show up in the rearview."

"Right."

Quinn sighed deeply and killed the engine. "You can't _still_ be pissed about that."

"You stopped for three different lights when you clearly had two more seconds left to drive right past them."

"I usually prefer to get somewhere in one piece."

"And now we're late."

"By about five minutes. Relax, the guy isn't going anywhere."

"This wouldn't have happened if you'd just let me drive."

"Driving with one hand isn't a skill to be proud of, Carrie."

She flipped him off before exiting the car, leaving him wondering why she was in such a crabby mood.

The room they were able to book seemed to be a good contender for the world's tackiest space. The furniture looked as if they hadn't been moved since the early 50's, and the floor squeaked whenever they took a step.

Still, Quinn had seen worse. And as long as it had four walls, it was good enough for surveillance.

He crouched down by the window and began unpacking the equipment they would need. And out of the corner of his eye he saw Carrie pacing relentlessly, something obviously on her mind. She then reached over and opened the mini fridge.

"We're not here on a holiday, Carrie. You're not touching anything that's in there."

She slammed the door shut. "Such a fucking stickler for the rules."

"You should be too. Every operation is important."

She rolled her eyes. "When did you suddenly grow a vagina?"

"Right around the same time you lost yours."

A bottle of water flew and hit him in the back of the head.

-.-.-

Saul massages his temples. "Do I really need to hear all this?"

"The point is" Quinn says "that she had been acting weird all day. I thought she was nervous about the assignment, so I tried to talk to her and get her mind off things."

-.-.-

"You're shitting me" Carrie said, looking equally confused and interested.

They were taking turns looking through the scope pointed across the street.

Quinn shook his head. "I mean it. Most black ops assignments really are as boring as this."

"I still find it hard to believe."

"A lot of operations end up with me hiding in the bushes and waiting for the right time to take out the target. It all boils down to being very patient."

She searched his face for a moment. "It sounds weird. You're stalking someone, ready to take their life. And you call it boring."

"After a while, every forest, every desert... every person starts looking the same."

"And I thought _I_ was dead inside."

He decided not to retort because she was right. It had been a long time since something fazed him or sent his heart racing. Quinn sat back and looked around the room, at the cheap ornaments and horrible color scheme. The tacky wallpaper that was supposed to resemble the inside of a lodge. The spark of a memory made his brow crease briefly. But no matter how quickly the frown disappeared, Carrie managed to catch it.

"What's with the look?" she asked, curious.

"Nothing. The wallpaper just reminds me of an operation I was on last year. I was supposed to track and eliminate the target, but it ended up stretching over a few days. It was just difficult taking a shot when the guy was in the cabin with-"

Realization hit him like lightning. For whatever reason, his memory had managed to store this assignment in his head like it was any other, even though that was far from the truth. And he couldn't believe he fucking let it slip. Such a long time after it happened.

Quinn's stomach sank when he spotted the look on her face. Pure betrayal.

"That was you" Carrie said, trying to keep from panicking. "I knew I saw strange footprints in the mud but Brody wouldn't believe-" She stopped to close her eyes briefly, the memory invading her head.

He had no inkling of an idea what to say. Because there was no chance of saving the situation.

"You were there to kill him" Carrie said, as if waiting for him to deny it.

"Estes was the one who-"

She looked at him menacingly. "Don't even fucking _try_ to put this on a dead man."

"He's the one who ordered me to kill Brody. But I didn't do it."

"Because you didn't have the opportunity."

"Because I changed my mind" he corrected.

Carrie looked at him with mock gratitude. "Well good for me that you didn't fucking change it back."

"I'm the one who disregarded orders for your sake while you snuck out and slept with a traitor. How am I the bad guy in this?"

"You stalked us for days. And you were more than ready and willing to shoot him _right in front of me_. Do you know who does that? A fucking psychopath."

Quinn eyed her. "I was doing my job."

"Then you're nothing but a hired gun."

"I bailed on the operation the second I realized he wasn't a threat. I put my job on the line for you."

Carrie narrowed her eyes at him. "You make it sound like getting fired is a bigger deal than ending a life."

He couldn't believe that she was still - _still _- taking the side of a man who turned on his own country. He wanted to point this out, but decided against it. She was already hurting from remembering a time she had tried to put out of her mind a long time ago.

Quinn shook his head. "Just forget it."

"No, go ahead" Carrie told him, her gaze shooting daggers, "say whatever you want to say."

"If you're still so hung up on this guy that you can't see me as anything other than some monster, then we can't be partners anymore."

"I'm not hung up on him."

It was a ridiculous statement because they both knew it was a lie.

"Carrie, you are the single more obsessive person I've ever met. But this time you're fixated on the wrong side. And I think a part of you knows that, but you're just too horrified at the thought of seeing it."

"The one who should be really horrified right now is your fucking conscience."

"He lied to you, he lied to all of us. And all those things you did for him, all those times you put yourself in danger for him. It was a mistake. And you know I'm right."

For a moment she looked like she was about to hit him. Instead, she simply said, "Get out of here before I fucking throw you out."

There were still some of his things in the room, but Quinn decided to abandon them all. He stepped outside without another word.

-.-.-

"And that's essentially why the assignment got screwed so bad" Quinn says "she wouldn't let me back inside to get the job done right. We haven't spoken a word since then. Didn't even look at each other on the flight home."

Saul rubs his tired head. "This is messy. We can't have two of our people fighting like this."

"I know. I'm sorry. But there's not a lot left to do except-"

"Fix it."

He looks at him, puzzled. "How?"

"Apologize. Both of you have to apologize to each other and put this whole clusterfuck behind you."

"She'd know I'd be bullshitting her. She's not stupid."

"Then say it like you mean it."

Quinn shakes his head. "It wouldn't matter, she'll still be pissed off no matter what I said." A pause. "And I'd still be pissed off no matter what she said."

"She's insulted you plenty of names in the past and you never even flinched."

"Now it's different."

"Why?"

Quinn averts his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable. "Because this time she meant everything she said."

By the time Saul steps outside to let Quinn leave and call Carrie in the office, she's a fidgeting mess. She seems to have been pacing the corridor the whole time. Carrie walks inside and sits down, her hands restless.

They go over what happened, but end up with roughly the same version that Quinn detailed a few minutes earlier. Except for one aspect.

"Peter says you were acting weird the whole day" Saul tells her, "Why?"

Her eyes trail over to the wall behind him. "It's not a big deal."

"Apparently it was bad enough to trigger this whole mess, so you're just going to have to share it with the rest of the class."

"I really don't see how it's relevant."

Saul eyes her with a firm look. "Carrie."

"Fine" she says, "I remembered something."

Saul simply regards her, expectant.

"After that operation that we fucked up about a month ago, you got the whole team to gather at the bar. And we all had a lot to drink that night, but I didn't think too much of it because I couldn't remember anything weird the next day."

"What did you do, Carrie?" Saul asks, already dreading the answer.

She glances away, uncomfortable that he has to tell her this. "I may have made a pass at Quinn."

"May have."

Carrie cringes. "I definitely tried to jump him."

Saul presses two fingers to his temple and closes his eyes. "Carrie, can you please tell me what the fuck you were thinking when you did that?"

"That's just the thing, I wasn't thinking because I was too drunk from _your _mandatory party."

"No, you can't put this one on me. There were other people at that bar who had a nice time without stepping into sexual harassment territory."

"Look, it's not a big deal. He didn't report me, didn't even mention it the next day."

"Let me just make it as clear as possible" Saul says, lowering his voice a notch, "around here we don't crawl all over each other like fucking gerbils. This is a respectable place where we work."

"I know."

"So whatever is going on right now, shut it the fuck down. Because these things _never _end well."

"I'm not planning on doing anything anyway, so you can spare me the lecture."

He sits back in his chair, an eyebrow raised. "Why don't I believe you?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly on good terms with him right now."

"That hasn't stopped you before."

"Look, I'm not getting involved with anyone even remotely close to the Agency. Trust me, I learned my lesson."

Saul nods, hoping she's actually being truthful. "Carrie, you know I try not to use the boss card with you. But I still am your superior. And as your superior I have to ask you to bury the hatchet."

"I don't think I can" she says. Then, a little softer, "And I don't think I want to."

If she wants to be stubborn, then so be it. Saul shrugs. "Then I'll assign you a new partner. Just get ready to operate solo for a long time until then."

"Why?"

"You don't exactly have people lining up to work with you. Most find your methods reckless. Some of them are even scared of you." And by the look on her face, it seems that he's getting through to her. "Trust me, Carrie" he says, driving the point home, "you won't find a more patient and understanding partner than the one you already have right now."

Her demeanor is suddenly cold. "I don't care. Whatever replacement you find is fine with me."

Saul takes a deep breath. She's making it really difficult to be her friend.

-.-.-

Carrie does her best to avoid him. But after a whole day of running from Quinn, they still end up on the same elevator at the same time. Because while they don't exactly work together anymore, their schedules are still synced from when they did. And it's hard to ditch a habit.

Carrie is determined not to say anything. Not to even glance in his direction. He's nothing but a wall now.

"I don't know why Saul still wants you to stick around" she hears herself saying.

So much for keeping quiet.

He does his best to ignore her, but a small arching of his eyebrow still registers.

And his polite demeanor is scratching her brain. "At least have the balls to stop acting so respectful all the time."

"We still work on the same team" Quinn says, calm and leveled, "and that means I'll do what it takes to have your back. But I stopped respecting you the second you called me a psychopath for doing the right thing."

As soon as the doors open, he steps out of the elevator, not even glancing in her direction.

Carrie remains motionless for a moment. She's seen him aggravated before, even lashing out, but never like this. Never seriously upset. And it suddenly dawns on her that she just lost a good friend.


	9. A Split Second Decision

(When an operation goes haywire, most of the team ends up in the hospital. And Carrie has never liked spending the night in one. For once, Quinn can sympathize.)

* * *

The more he focuses, the more information starts gradually unfolding in front of his eyes. Quinn realizes that he's lying in a hospital bed in a mostly empty room. He blinks a few times to chase the haze away, but the left side of his vision is nothing but darkness.

He brings his hand to his eye and finds a patch of gauze over it. And in the process notices that there's a splint on his left hand, keeping two of his fingers immobile. So far, his injuries seem to be on the same side of his body. Whatever that means.

A lightning bolt of realization reminds him of something important. He remembers an explosion. A lot of screams. Saul being severely hurt. And then nothing. A jolt of panic passes through him, because an explosion means people were injured. Possibly even lost their lives. And Quinn has no idea what happened, who was hurt, or how badly.

He spots a bundle of clothes by his bed that he recognizes as his own, and he goes to dig his phone out. He finds it quickly in the pocket of his pants, but it's useless. The screen is shattered and the battery is fried.

Looks like he's going to have to get in touch with the team the old fashioned way. Quinn gets off the bed and throws on his pair of pants while he waits for the sudden flashes of pain. But nothing happens. All the bottles of medication by his bed might have something to do with that.

He stumbles like a drunk through the corridor, partly because his feet are wobbly, and partly because the bandage over his eye reduces his depth perception to almost nothing. He's surprised by how much of a battle taking a few steps is.

He spots a figure standing lethargic in front of someone's door. Carrie seems to be in rather good shape compared to him. She's still in her street clothes – blood-stained and dusty – and has a small bandage covering the bridge of her nose.

When she sees him, Carrie instantly tenses up and regards him with wary.

"I'm waving the white flag" Quinn reassures her.

She returns her gaze to the door in front of her, her mind obviously preoccupied.

"Saul's in there" he says, not even needing to ask.

Carrie just gives him a nod, her whole demeanor listless. He's never seen her this depressed and lifeless.

Quinn walks over to the wall she's leaning on, but keeps his distance. "How's he doing?"

"They removed all the shrapnel from his body. Now we just wait."

He glances at her, apprehensive. "Are you okay? I mean physically."

"I have a broken nose and a concussion." She looks at him for a fraction of a second. "But it looks like I got off scot-free compared to the rest of you guys."

"This is nothing, I look way worse than I feel."

She snorts. "Sure."

"How's everyone else?"

"No casualties" Carrie says with a tiny smile. "Everyone's hanging on."

The smile that showed up on her face disappears just as quickly as it came, and the reaction threatens to make him smile as well. He's glad that, for once, they're able to sit in the same place together without arguing.

"I'm surprised you agreed to stay here" Carrie says, eyeing him for a moment. "I know you hate hospitals."

"Who says?"

"Last time you were admitted, you were so eager to get out that you started getting dressed in front of me."

A sigh. "You're never going to stop bringing that up, are you?"

"So you _do_ hate hospitals."

"Bad memories" he offers as an explanation.

"Of what?"

Quinn doesn't feel comfortable telling her about his son and how he wasn't even allowed to sit in the same room when he was born. Even if Carrie probably already suspects something.

"Just bad memories in general" he summarizes. "What about you?"

She shrugs. "Hospitals. Mental institutions... They both look the same. Both feel the same."

So it was bad memories for her too.

"If you talk to the nurses, they'll probably agree to let you go home."

Carrie shakes her head, eyes firmly on the door in front of them. "I'm not leaving Saul by himself."

"It doesn't look like anyone is allowed in his room right now."

"Then I'm not leaving him alone in this building."

"I'm sure he's going to be fine."

"You can't know that."

There's no point for her to stand in front of a closed door, but it's the only way Carrie can feel comfortable: if she keeps up the illusion of having a choice, even if she's just standing here, worrying herself sick.

"If you ever find out anything new" he says, "let me know. My room's right down the hall."

She doesn't nod or acknowledge his words, and he doesn't wait for her to. Quinn heads back to his room.

-.-.-

Sleep doesn't come easy. Or, rather, not at all. The room is deafeningly quiet, and no matter how much he tries, Quinn can't stop trying to jog his memory and remember what happened. But his mind is blank.

A few hours later his door opens suddenly. And Carrie stumbles inside, as if someone pushed her in. Not a good sign.

"What happened?"

She looks embarrassed. "Fucking nurse kicked me off the corridor."

"I'm surprised you didn't put up a fight."

"I did. She flicked my ear until I left."

He's tempted to laugh, but knows she wouldn't take too kindly to that reaction.

"I don't want to go home, so I thought I'd stay here for a couple of hours. Just until that bitch of a nurse ends her shift." She then adds hurriedly, "If that's okay."

"Sure."

Carrie takes a few steps towards the chair in the room, but then changes her mind at the last second. She remains standing by the window, and soon starts pacing the room, back and forth. Her hands are also restless, going through her hair every few steps, and the mere sight of this makes Quinn feel exhausted. She's like a spinning top that never topples over.

"Carrie, you're going to set off a panic attack if you don't try to calm down."

She shakes her head frantically. "It's fine. I'm fine."

"Just sit down before you pass out."

She looks at the door. "I wish I could be in there with him, you know? He shouldn't be alone."

"There's nothing you can do right now."

"I know. I just wish I could do nothing while being in the same room with him."

"I'm sure the nurses will let you know if anything changes."

It looks like his words finally sink in because she gives a little nod and stops messing with her hair. Carrie gives the chair one more glance before crossing towards the bed.

Quinn frowns at her.

"If you think I'm spending all night in that chair, you're crazy." She doesn't even wait for a reply, but simply shoulders him away until he moves enough for her to sit down. "I barely take up any space" she goes on "You won't even know I'm here."

But he very much doubts that.

He closes his eyes and tries to get some rest. But Carrie's presence there is too strong to be shut off. Especially since they're not exactly on good terms. Which means there's no way he'll be able to get any sleep with her around.

"Do you remember anything about the explosion?" Quinn asks.

"Nothing. Just a flash of white haze."

"I guess it's going to take a few days before our memories come back."

"I just don't understand why I walked away so easy. Everyone else is fucked up pretty bad and all I have is a broken nose."

He shrugs. "You got lucky."

"I'm never lucky."

"Then the rest of us got really unlucky."

The door creaks open and a nurse walks in. She hesitates for a moment when she sees two people occupying the bed, but stays professional and doesn't say a word.

"It's okay, we're partners" Carrie says quickly. Realization appears on her face mere seconds later.

But the nurse ignores everything and hands Carrie a small transparent cup with several pills. She then heads back out, looking at the both of them strangely.

"I don't know why I said that" Carrie offers as an explanation as soon as the door closes, "Force of habit, I guess."

"I don't think the ear-flicker is happy with two people sharing a bed" Quinn says. But she's not listening. "Carrie?"

She's frowning at the pills that are sitting in her palm. "Ibuprofen. Some aspirin. And this other one looks like a fucking vitamin."

"You're the one who keeps saying that you're fine. Acting brave and painless has finally come to bite you in the ass."

She glances in his direction for a moment, looking envious. "What did they give you?"

"I don't know. But look at this." He lifts the eye-patch and gazes at her.

Carrie's eyes widen. "Jesus, it looks like you got maced."

"And I don't feel a thing. Three cheers for medication."

Her demeanor changes from apprehension to curiosity.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing. I've just never really seen you smiling before."

Quinn didn't even realize that his expression had changed at all. Interesting. He leans over to the table by the bed, grabs a small bottle and tosses it to her. "Try one. Maybe they'll make you uncharacteristically happy too."

Carrie eyes the bottle of pills and then looks at him with her eyebrows raised.

"What, did I smile again?"

"No. I'm not supposed to take anything unless a nurse hands it to me. You're breaking the rules. And you never break the rules."

"I kind of high on a lot of meds right now."

She looks at the bottle in her hand.

"It's just a pill, Carrie. Nothing's going to happen to you."

-.-.-

He's not sure how much time passed, but after a while they both end up lying on the bed and looking at the lights peering through the blinds and playing on the ceiling.

"This is so fucked up" Carrie says, all hushed tones.

There are so many fucked up things going on in their universe. "You'll have to be more specific."

"We almost died today. And we're all acting like it's no big deal."

Quinn shrugs. "I can start brooding if you think that's more appropriate."

"If we really would've died today... would you have any regrets?"

"Everyone has regrets."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"What kind would you have?"

"I don't know. I could've been nicer to my sister." She thinks for a second. "My dad too." Another pause. "And Saul. And Virgil. Maybe Max."

She's obviously avoided putting his name in the list, but Quinn doesn't bring it up. She's already feeling bad enough because of Saul's condition.

"That clusterfuck from last week" she says suddenly, "it was... stupid." Carrie then shakes her head. "No, it wasn't stupid. It took me by surprise and it fucking hurt to know you were the one who almost shot him. But you didn't do it, and that was... What I mean is that I appreciate it. Even if things didn't turn out the way I wanted."

Quinn doesn't know what it's appropriate to say in the situation, so he just goes with his gut. "I'm sorry too."

A sad smile appears on her face. "He wasn't just some guy, you know. He was misguided and confused. And I know he did a lot of bad shit that can't ever be erased. But he tried to redeem himself. In the end, Brody just needed someone to believe in him. And that was me."

Quinn doesn't say anything, just listens to her talk. He's surprised that the sound of her voice can be so relaxing when she's not yelling. She should not yell more often.

"A lot of people say that you get to have the real thing only once in your life" Carrie goes on, "and I think he was mine."

"That better be some grade A bullshit" Quinn mumbles.

"What?"

"If that's true, then I'm also out of luck. My last relationship felt like the real thing too. Until it ended."

Carrie's eyes never leave the ceiling as she talks, as if stuck in her own little world. "Maybe not everyone has a true chance at happiness."

"When did you become so pessimistic?"

"Since we almost died today."

It's sad to see her so deflated and tired, dark circles around her eyes.

"Have you ever thought about death?" Carrie asks "I mean seriously. Just consider that tomorrow you might not be here."

"I don't know about you, but I'm partial to denial."

"I tried to kill myself once."

Quinn's head instantly turns towards her.

And Carrie's eyes widen. "Shit, I have no idea why I just said that out loud. What the fuck is in that pill?"

"Are you okay now?" he asks tentatively.

She thinks long and hard for a moment. "I don't know. I think so. But I'm never really sure."

"What happened?"

"It's such a cliché... women overdosing. But it was so convenient. I just took all the pills I had and thought... this is it. Thought I'd feel terrified, but the whole shock of death wore off in five seconds. And then I felt calm. In control."

It's downright alien to hear her talk about this so serenely when he's never been anything other than scared in the face of death. Quinn grabs her hand without thinking. But she doesn't pull back, so he holds on. He also starts wondering what magical ingredients must be in the pills they just took.

Neither of them say anything for the next few hours. They just sit there in silence until the medication starts making them feel drowsy. And after a while Quinn feels her hand slipping out of his.

He expects her to have a restless sleep, moving and thrashing all night, because she's so volatile when awake. But Carrie is perfectly still. Small. Scared. He takes the blanket and drapes it over her.

An hour before daybreak Quinn hears the door open again, and a nurse tells him that Saul has stabilized and he is allowed visitors. The second Carrie hears about this news she practically springs out of bed, and then rushes out the door. Quinn tries to keep up with her pace, but a few seconds later she's gone, footsteps ringing down the hall.

By the time he reaches the room, Carrie is already by Saul's bed and in mid-sentence, talking and gesturing as if she's had too much coffee.

"... and you shouldn't come with us on assignments anymore, you can't just go around getting hurt like this, you're fucking _old_."

"You've always had such a way with words" Saul tells her, a small smile on his face.

She abruptly stops talking and laughs, because it feels good to see him awake and well.

"I'm sorry I worried you" Saul says.

"It's okay. You're okay now."

Saul angles his head past her and glances at Quinn. "Peter, good to see you're in one piece. You had great reflexes out there."

He frowns. "Thanks?"

"I just hope you'll take it a little easier next time. Looks like you broke her nose when you jumped to shield her from the explosion."

And just like that the pieces slot into place. Why Carrie's the only one without any extensive wounds. Why he has burns and injuries on only one side of his body.

"Don't change the subject" Carrie says, eyeing Saul, "I'm serious, you can't come in the field with us anymore, it's too dangerous." She glances at Quinn, "You agree with me, right?"

"So you two are talking again?" Saul says, eyebrows raised.

"Not unless you agree to never leave your office during operations."

"Carrie, I know the explosion banged me up pretty bad, but I still remember that I'm _your_ superior."

A smile appears on her face. "It was worth a shot."

Carrie keeps him talking for a while longer, asking for details regarding the explosion, but Saul seems to have the same memory issues as the rest of them. But he reassures her that they just need to be patient and wait until the fog clears.

They're ushered back out a moment later by a doctor who insists that Saul can't have two people keeping him up and restless when he needs to rest. Carrie tries to argue her case, but when there's no way to budge the decision of a medical professional, Quinn places an arm around her shoulders and leads her away. Not that it stops her from muttering various profanities under her breath.

When they're back in his room, Quinn notices a change in her attitude. Carrie stops in the middle of the room and stands there, awkwardly.

He glances at her. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just... I heard what Saul said in there and... well... thanks."

He can't believe what he's witnessing: Carrie feeling embarrassed. Quinn shrugs slightly, trying to make her feel less uncomfortable. "It's all right, I don't even remember doing anything anyway."

"But you did. And I appreciate it. I guess I owe you big time now."

He shakes his head. "You don't owe me anything."

"You know, you keep saying that, but it's not true."

He frowns at her sudden serious tone. "Why do you say that?"

"You saved my ass a lot of times in the past. And today you made a make a split second decision to keep me from getting hurt instead of yourself. Even though I said all those shitty things to you on that last assignment."

"I told you, I have your back no matter what."

Carrie nods, but looks somewhat worried. It's fascinating to watch all the various emotions and thoughts crossing her face. She goes through insecurity, wonder, curiosity, and confusion in a matter of seconds. Quinn isn't sure what's bothering her, but he doesn't think much of it because these her usual bouts of anxiety usually blow over rather quickly.

"It's okay, Carrie" he reassures her, "really."

She takes a few steps to close the distance between them, and the second she does, alarm bells start ringing in his head. And yet Quinn finds that he can't back away. He's surprised by how small and scared Carrie seems when she leans in a gives him a small peck on the lips.

She draws back to look at him. "This is just as a thank you, it doesn't mean any-"

He kisses her back, throwing out all those unwritten rules out the window, because his entire team was almost blown up today and his memory is in pieces and godamnit it, he deserves something good to happen for once.

She breaks away a moment later but, surprisingly, doesn't run off. "Saul's going to fucking kill us if he finds out, isn't he?"

And she's right because it's a bad idea no matter how you look at it. Getting involved with someone at work, especially in their field, is a horribly dumb idea.

Quinn glances at her, at the small smile at the edge of her lips. She's already thinking the same thing. "Risk it?"

"Risk it."


End file.
